Let the Broken Pieces Go
by angellwings
Summary: The traumatized future versions of Lucy and Wyatt land in 2023 and find more than a few surprises. This is the story of how they cope and heal. Together. [alt timeline] [lyatt] [a story in 5 parts] [very M rated]
1. The Dark

**A/N:** Hello! Today, I bring you this fic that that no one asked for lmao. The concept is: broken Future Lyatt lands in 2023 where they're married with twins and have to figure out their shit. I know this didn't happen on the show and effectively our Lyatt's happiness erases Future Lyatt's existence but let's say it didn't and this is what Future Lyatt came home to when they left the bunker in that rusted junker of a Lifeboat.

I have written all of this. It totals at just over 50k words. I will be posting it in five 10k installments. Making this a sort of "five shot" I guess. I was intending this as an epic one shot but that is just FAR too much to throw at you at once. Hopefully this makes it easier to read and process.

Hope you like it! This one literally flowed out of me like a fic hasn't done in ages. So much fun.

Happy reading!

angellwings

PS - This is deffo gonna be rated M, which means it'll be lost to the search filters on FFN, but oh well.

* * *

 _Let The Broken Pieces Go_

 _By angellwings_

* * *

PART ONE: The Dark

* * *

" _I can't find you in the dark.  
Will we get back to who we are?  
And I can't fix this on my own.  
Our love is still the best thing I've ever known."_

 _-"Heart Shaped Wreckage", SMASH_

* * *

"You okay?" Wyatt barks out as the Lifeboat comes to a startling stop.

More startling than normal considering this is an obsolete version of their ship. She lets her chin drop to her chest and furrows her brow as she breathes through a wave of nausea. She's glad he was able to fly them back because her head aches and her ears are still ringing.

She picks her head up with one last deep breath and nods with closed lids. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."

"Do you ever tell me the truth anymore?" He asks with an irritated huff.

She opens her eyes slowly as a pack of travel tissues is dropped in her hands and then gives him a critical glare. "Where the hell do you get off—"

He cuts her off without even the barest flinch at her tone or her glare. "Your nose is bleeding. I know you're lying because your nose is bleeding. _Jesus, Lucy_. I told you we shouldn't have done this. What if we go out there and nothing is different, huh? Just like the last fucking time you did this."

"Then we do it again and again and again until something changes," she tells him as she opens the pack and holds a tissue to her nose. "We chip away at it until he's back where he belongs."

He shuts his eyes tight and shakes his head. "You can't go back again. You know you can't. Your body can't take a third—"

"I don't fucking care," she tells him through gritted teeth. They have had this argument too many times. It never changes. "It would be worth it if it meant we bring him home."

"You really think that's what Rufus would want?"

She scoffs at his concerned blue gaze and shakes her head. "He's dead and until he's alive again his opinion doesn't matter. The bottom line is that you and I cannot do this without him so we go back for as many trips as it takes."

"No, sorry, I'm overruling you. If we have to go again then I'm going alone. This entire shitshow is my goddamn fault to begin with and I'm not gonna let you fucking stroke out in 2018. You've been back twice, I've been back once. If this trip didn't work then I'm going again on my own. If you've got a problem with that then you can take it up with Jiya," He orders in a raised voice with an adamant shake of his head.

She laughs bitterly and opens her mouth to speak but his eyes narrow and he snaps at her before she can.

"Do _not_ give me that fucking line about not taking orders," he says heatedly. "You're gonna take this one, Preston, and you're gonna shut up about it. Now, let's get this the hell over with." Before she has a chance to argue he slaps the button for the hatch and it slides open.

She watches with bated breath as it creaks out of the way to reveal The Bunker, looking nearly the same as the one they just left. But it's different somehow. Brighter, happier, warmer. She spots why almost immediately and nearly breaks her neck excitedly climbing down from the Lifeboat with Wyatt hot on her heels. She doesn't stop until her arms lock around a figure she hasn't seen in five long years — five _traumatizing_ years.

It worked this time. They did it. Because right there, in the shared embrace of herself and Wyatt Logan, is Rufus Carlin. Back from the dead. She hasn't cried in at least two years, but that all changes the minute he speaks. Because it's just so Rufus and it proves that she's not dreaming.

"What the fuck kind of dead animal is on Wyatt's face?"

It's rude and awkward and it can't be anything but reality. A soggy laugh escapes her throat. The sound is so foreign that she's not sure it came from her. It couldn't have come from her. But she knows it did. Rufus is back and with him comes her ability to laugh.

"Safe bet," Rufus says as she and Wyatt pull away from him. "You're not from this timeline, are you?"

It's only then that Lucy notices the other people in the room. Denise. Mason. People they lost early on. But no Flynn. Jiya's face is familiar, though much less careworn. She's happy and also jealous that her teammate got a fresh memory. She doesn't remember all the shit that got them here.

"Safe bet," Wyatt agrees as he too finally takes in their surroundings.

"What's your history?" Denise asks, Lucy sees concern shining in her eyes. The concern of a mother. God, she missed that. She resists the urge to hug her. She's not that Lucy anymore. She's not the Lucy that throws her entire body into an exuberant embrace.

"We were still fighting Rittenhouse, but all that was left was the two of us, Jiya, and Flynn," Lucy informs them. Wyatt's jaw clenches the way it always does when Flynn is mentioned, but he doesn't add anything. Surprisingly.

"Jessica came back for you two?" Jiya asks, but she seems to already know their answer.

"Yeah," Wyatt answers with a scoff. "Did she not for all of you?"

"Not for them," Jiya tells him as she motions to Mason, Denise, and Rufus. "But she came back for me." Jiya and Rufus exchange worried glances before Jiya asks another question. "This may be awkward, but, um, what's your relationship status? Like are you...together?"

Lucy quirks a brow at them and then briefly glances at Wyatt out of the corner of her eye. "No."

Mason and Christopher look shocked, beyond shocked really. They look like some essential law of the Universe has just been broken. That's when Lucy knows.

This timeline is likely the polar opposite of theirs.

"So your Wyatt took the hint about the Journal?" Lucy asks in order to avoid discussing her and Wyatt's relationship any further.

"He did. He wanted to remove Jessica from the timeline himself but Flynn beat him to it," Jiya says with a solemn nod as she meets Lucy's gaze. "He gave up his life to take out Jessica. That was five years ago now."

She feels Wyatt's gaze shift to her and Lucy tries to swallow down the lump in her throat. Flynn's dead. That's why he's not in the Bunker. _Flynn's dead_.

That relationship ended badly but she still had a history with him. There was a level of understanding there that she didn't have with anyone else. Solace, comfort, no fear of judgement. Even after things ended. She couldn't talk to Jiya. Jiya retreated inward, and with the exception of calling the shots for their missions, she never spoke to any of them. Talking to Wyatt was too complicated and awkward. The distance between them is so large that Lucy can't imagine them ever bridging it. So, really, there was no choice but Flynn.

"He went back into the timeline and took out Jessica?" Lucy asks once she's had a moment to process. That was not what she expected to happen.

Rufus nods. "Saved my life. Turns out he was a hero all along. Sort of."

"Look at that," Wyatt says with a sneer. "Your boyfriend finally did something for someone else. Too bad it's too little too late."

She's accustomed to how his anger has made him cruel but their teammates aren't. Rufus glares at Wyatt while the others visibly flinch.

She scoffs in return and rolls her eyes. "Yeah, maybe it was, but he still managed to do the one thing you never could. Take out Jessica."

Its a low blow and she knows it, but dammit he started it. The startled looks and Rufus's glare now turn on her.

"What—what the hell happened to you two?" Rufus sputters in disbelief. "What could have happened to make you... _Jesus_. Do you even _like_ each other anymore?"

They exchange a look. It's a deceptively indifferent glance that they've perfected through the years. It's a mask, a lie, an act. They've been playing one massively long game of emotional chicken since the day Rufus died and neither of them see that ending now.

"We don't have to like each other to work together," Lucy answers, managing to dodge the question without actually answering it.

"And with you back and Rittenhouse gone, I'm guessing?" He pauses and Rufus nods. "We don't even have to do _that_ anymore."

Those words actually cut her. She's built up a pretty thick skin against Wyatt Logan but that sentiment pierces right through it. He's right. There's nothing connecting them anymore. No mission keeping them tied to each other. They can go their separate ways and never look back. It's all she's wanted since he brought Jessica to the bunker all those years ago but now that it's here…

There's a mild swell of panic blooming in her chest. Love him or hate him, it doesn't matter, but who the _hell_ is she without Wyatt Logan? She doesn't think she knows anymore or even understands what that means. But she guesses that now is when she finds out.

"Actually," Rufus says with a wince. "It's not quite as simple as parting ways forever."

"What do you mean?" Wyatt asks with a furrowed brow.

Lucy doesn't quite like the sound of that either.

"It's just that while the two of you have been fighting for your lives, in whatever post-apocalyptic world you came from, the you that I know has gotten married and built a life together," Rufus tells them with a small smile.

The idea of being married to Wyatt hits some emotional part of her that she thought she cut out and threw away long ago. But instead of letting anyone see that or speaking her vulnerable truth, she goes for cynical obvious.

"Not exactly an unsolvable problem, Rufus. Divorce still exists in this timeline, right?" She says in a snippy tone.

She thinks she sees a flash of hurt across Wyatt's face but she couldn't have. She was projecting, seeing what she wanted to see. She's done that with Wyatt before.

Rufus looks like she's knocked the wind out of him as he replies. "Yeah, yeah it still exists and you could do _that_ , but you'd still have to co-parent. So that won't cut ties either."

Rufus knows he's delivered a shocking blow. His hesitant grimace reflects that.

"Co-parent?" Wyatt asks as his near permanent scowl fades into something much softer. Something she rarely sees anymore. _Hope_. "The other us had a kid?"

"Kids, plural, actually," Denise clarifies. "Fraternal twins, two girls."

Her mouth drops open and her eyes instantly water. The version of her that they know is happily married to Wyatt with two little girls. Oh god, did her life ever sound perfect? Once upon a time, it would have been all that she wanted, but now...now it's too late. She's lost Wyatt forever and maybe even lost herself forever. She's much too damaged to raise two girls.

There's an emotional catch in Wyatt's throat as he asks more questions. "How old? What are their names?"

"They're four."

Four? They only left the journal five years in the past! The other them must have gotten their shit together pretty quickly. If only they could have done the same.

"And their names are Amy Henri and Flynn Sherwin Preston-Logan."

The awe in Wyatt's face is wiped away and replaced with a bitter hardness almost instantly. He turns accusing eyes on Lucy with a scoff.

"Go figure. One of our daughters is named after Flynn. I wonder who's idea _that_ was?" He asks in a huff.

Jiya's eyes narrow into a glare at Wyatt as she comes to stand between them. "Uh, _yours_ , dude. You picked that name. _Not_ Lucy. Other you got over himself and realized exactly what Flynn sacrificed so the rest of us could be happy. You might want to do the same. Especially for the particular little girl who wears that name."

Wyatt looks appropriately scolded and nods with a solemn expression. "Understood."

"Do you want to see them?" Denise asks hopefully.

Wyatt nods and steps forward but Lucy can't bring herself to. Right now, these little girls are just conjecture. Theory. But the minute she sees them then this entire timeline is real. She and Wyatt are married. They have children, and probably a perfect little house that's cluttered and crazy but warm. The image appears in her head of a version of her who got almost everything she ever wanted.

She sees her and Wyatt totally in love like they almost were, she sees herself moving in with him into some cramped apartment ready to start a new life, she sees herself with a swollen pregnant belly proud and glowing, beaming at Wyatt. She sees all the things that will never really be hers. All the things she can never have.

"Lucy?" Denise asks in concern.

"I—I can't," Lucy admits with a thick swallow and a shake of her head. "I'm not...they're not...I'm not the Lucy any of you knew. This isn't my life."

Tears are stinging her eyes and for the first time in years she sees Wyatt reach for her. He thinks better of it and pulls his hand back, but she saw it. "Lucy—"

"I can't be what they need," Lucy says as she turns her watery gaze to Wyatt and yet still takes an instinctive step away from him. "I—I'm too damaged. No. _No_."

"Hey, look, I'm right here with you, okay?" Wyatt says softly. It's the opposite of his earlier tone and she finds it disconcerting. He hasn't spoken to her that tenderly in longer than either of them care to admit. "We're in the same boat. Just like always." He chuckles and gives her a dry sideways grin. "We're _always_ the only two people in damn boat no matter how unprecedented the situation."

Despite the fear and the grief that still sits in her chest, she feels a grin tug at her lips and amused snort escape her.

"You'd think the universe would give one of them a turn," she replies as she motions to Rufus and the others.

"You'd think," he agrees with a tiny smirk. "So, you coming?"

How is it that, despite years of resentment and turmoil, he still knows her _so well_?

She gulps, takes a deep breath, and nods. "Yes. God help me, yes."

He doesn't reach for her again, thankfully. But he does wait for her to reach him before taking a step forward. As they pass Rufus and Jiya she sees them communicate something to each other with a grin and a glance. They're likely under the mistaken impression that one moment of understanding means things between her and Wyatt can be mended. It doesn't. They can't. She's known this for years.

She and Wyatt have had their "moments" over time. With shared space and a history like theirs it would be impossible not to. Every now and then she found herself in his bed or him in hers but it was usually out of shared grief or anger. It was quick and heated and once it was over they acted like it never happened. There was no cuddling after, no talking. They sought each other out, took the comfort they needed, and then went their separate ways. In all those "moments" not one of them led to anything being mended.

If it were going to happen, it would have by now. No, she and Wyatt are beyond repair. Even if they now have children to think about, she can't see how that will change anything between them.

Denise leads them down the hall to what was once Jiya and Lucy's room. She opens the door slowly, careful not to let it creak. Wyatt sucks in a startled breath as two little heads come into view. Dark waves spill over their shoulders with creamy pale complexions. Big innocent eyes are closed with long lashes fluttering against their cheeks.

"They...they look like you, Lucy," he says in a warm whisper.

That's funny because all she can see, when she looks at their faces, is him. One of them has his nose, the other his mouth, both their faces are round like his—yes they have her coloring, but all she sees is _him_.

And that's when the panic hits her.

It's too real. Too fast.

She left a world in which she was fighting for her life and never once stopped to think about marriage or children and now she is a part of one where that's her whole life? It's too much. Too important. These girls need a mother. She is not a mother. She is hardened and tired and not anywhere close to the role model they deserve.

Wyatt steps into the room and kneels between the beds. She doesn't understand how he's able to bear it. How can he stand there and look at them and not feel like…like...

Like drowning.

She takes a loud gasping breath as the image of water rushing in her car windows floods her senses. She thought she had a handle on this by now. She hadn't had one of these episodes since before...since before Jessica.

She turns on her heel and runs. Wyatt looks up as she leaves but doesn't move. He hasn't been the one to comfort her in the last few years. She suspects it's not an instinct he has anymore.

She runs to the bunker bathroom and shuts the door behind her. One hand goes to her forehead and the other to her chest as she tries to shove the images of her accident away and _breathe_.

A small hand lands on her shoulder and she turns to find Jiya looking at her with concerned eyes. "You okay?" She asks.

She swings her head wildly from side to side. "No. No, I'm _not_ okay. This... _them_. All of it! This is not my life! How am I supposed to—" The tears that have threatened to fall all night finally spill over and drip down her cheeks. "I _can't_ do this, Jiya. _I can't_."

"I think you can," Jiya assures her. "Every version of Lucy Preston that I've ever met has been stronger than she believed. You're no different."

"You don't understand," she says as she angrily swipes at her cheeks. "Looking at them physically _hurts._ This is everything I never dared to want. This other me...she—she got the future I secretly hoped for. Wyatt. The kids—"

"Tenure," Jiya added with a sympathetic smile.

Lucy let out a scoffing laugh. "Right, of course. She got fucking tenure too." Her face crumples at the fantasy life that's coming true before her very eyes. She should be happy, ecstatic even, but it's not that simple anymore. "She got Wyatt and then everything else fell into place didn't it? Like dominoes." She stops trying to wipe away the tears. They're falling too hard and fast now. There's no point. "Once upon a time, this is all I ever wanted from him but it can't work now. After all the damn pain we've inflicted on each other...it's just too goddamn late. And now I have to suffer through the pain of losing a dream I never had the chance to enjoy. Do you know what that feels like?"

Jiya's eyes are watering too as she shakes her head in reply.

"My heart broke over Wyatt Logan five years ago, Jiya, but somehow...somehow I think it's breaking all over again," she explains before speaking becomes impossible. She can barely hold herself upright as it is. She finds the nearest wall and slides down against it. Everything aches and she wants to curl up in a ball and just give up. Because even in a timeline where she's supposedly happy, there's no hope to be found. Not for her.

She's still in love with a man who likely hates her and now they have two children that she is in no way equipped to care for.

How does she do this without shattering what's left of her battered heart?

The answer comes to her much too quickly. _She can't_.

Arms go around her and hold her tightly as she cries. Based on the lithe frame that has slid down to the floor next to her she knows it's Jiya. She grabs onto her desperately. She needs the comfort of a friend and she has _dearly missed_ being friends with Jiya. Lucy hears Jiya sniffle and knows the younger woman is crying with her.

"I'm sorry, Lucy," Jiya says in a voice thick with emotion. "I'm _so_ sorry. I know this seems impossible now, but it will get better. _It will_."

Jiya's right. That does seem impossible.

* * *

Wyatt watches Lucy run away with a thick swallow. He wants to go after her but in the state he's in…

He gives Jiya a pleading look. "Do you mind…"

"I'm on it," she answers before he can finish his sentence.

He glances between the sleeping daughters he's just met one more time before standing and quietly leaving the room. Denise's phone buzzes in her pocket and she gives Wyatt an apologetic look as she excuses herself. Leaving Wyatt alone with Rufus.

Wyatt feels his eyes watering and he's certain they're red and raw by the time he finally works up the composure to look at Rufus.

"This is…" he can't even find the words for it. There's a pounding incessant pain in his chest that hasn't stopped since Rufus mentioned he and Lucy were married. Just when he thinks he's recovered from it, it strikes again. And that's when he finds the words. "Torture. This is _torture_."

Rufus gives Wyatt a startled look before he closes the door to the girls' room and then motions for Wyatt to follow him down the hall. They stop in front of the familiar giant fan. The one that haunts him with his last true memories of happiness.

"Torture?" Rufus asks with a furrowed brow. "Having kids is torture?"

"No! That's not what I—" He abruptly stops and runs a hand over his face to try and sooth away the frustration. "It's not the kids—well not _just_ the kids. It's the entire picture. It's like someone is taunting me with all the ways I could have been happy if I wasn't such a stupid bastard. I had the potential to be _this_ man. The man who deserved Lucy and had two of the most beautiful little girls I've ever seen. I—goddamnit—I wasted so much time on Jessica. I believed her! I believed that she and I had a kid out there somewhere and pushed Lucy away because of it. I—I loved Lucy but I pushed her away."

Tears sting his eyes as he shakes his head at his own stupidity.

"I pushed her away when I should have held on and if I hadn't then I...god, I could have actually had this. I could have been with Lucy all this time and watched those girls grow up for four years. I mean, they—look at them, Rufus. They're perfect. You know, of course they're perfect. They take after—" He stops and for some reason he can't bring himself to finish that sentence.

Those girls are the product of a love that he carelessly threw away while standing in this very spot just over five years ago. He'd always wondered what if and now...that what if is staring him in the face.

"I could have been happy," he repeats as he meets Rufus's eyes again. "I could have been happy all this time, but I fucked it up. God, I fucked it up so badly."

"Fine, so you fucked it up," Rufus says as he places a reassuring hand on Wyatt's shoulder. "Now fix it."

"Rufus, it's not that easy," Wyatt replies with a shake of his head.

"I didn't say it would be easy. I said _fix it_ ," Rufus repeats with determination.

"She doesn't want me to fix it," He says with a shake of his head. "She doesn't want _me_ at all. You saw us back there. How...how do I fix _that_? How do I even start? I don't like the way I talk to her. I hate myself every time I take a jab at her. But I can't seem to help it."

"Then why do it?"

"Because...I don't know. I guess because it's easier to yell at each other than to actually talk about anything," Wyatt admits in exasperation.

"Yeah, that's not fucked up at all," Rufus says with a sarcastic snort.

"I don't think it'll come as any surprise to you when I say...yeah, well, Lucy and I are pretty fucked up," Wyatt responds with a tired sigh. "The worst part is that I...I miss her all the time." The tears are returning now and he wipes a hand across his eyes to keep them at bay. "She's been fighting beside of me every day for five years and I've missed her for every _second_ of it."

Even those few nights when they're as together as they can be neither of them are truly _present_. So he misses her even then. She was his best friend and for one night something infinitely more and now...now they're nothing.

Fuck, if that revelation doesn't threaten to rend him in two.

"How do we do this, man? How do she and I wade through all our shit _and_ parent two little girls? I've never been a parent. I haven't lived this life. I don't want to hurt them, Lucy or the girls."

"There's only one way, Wyatt. There's only one way the two of you survive this without breaking two tiny four year old hearts," Rufus advises as he places both hands on Wyatt's shoulders now. " _Together_."

He thought defeating Rittenhouse would be the hardest thing he would ever do, but he was wrong. _This_ is going to be the hardest thing he will ever do. Facing up to his past and his mistakes and all his _shit_. That will be the hardest.

* * *

Lucy and Jiya emerge from the bathroom a half hour later. Lucy's face has been washed and her eyes are swollen and glassy. She's clearly been crying, but apart from that her eyes show no trace of sadness.

She approaches Wyatt in the hall and can't seem to find any words. They stare at each other in prolonged silence as Rufus and Jiya watch, holding their breath.

Denise comes back at that moment with her phone in her hand. Effectively saving Lucy from having to say anything at all.

"Everything okay?" Denise asks hesitantly.

"I don't know," Lucy answers with genuine confusion etched across her face.

"Understandable," she answers as she reaches out and squeezes Lucy shoulder. "You two need to figure out a game plan, and what you plan to say to the girls and _how_ you should say it."

"Not here," Lucy replies quickly. "I don't know what to tell them but I don't want to tell them in the Bunker. They should be somewhere they feel safe. Somewhere familiar."

Wyatt agrees with that whole heartedly. It will be hard enough seeing faces that look different, even if the differences are subtle. They shouldn't have to deal with that in _this_ depressing place on top of that.

He nods. "We should take them home, where ever that is."

"You can follow me," Denise insists. "I'll help you get them in the car. They should sleep through it. They can sleep through anything."

Rufus laughs and nods. "Even overly competitive games of Cranium and let me tell you, that's not easy. Last time we played I got a marker thrown at my eye." His gaze turns on Lucy pointedly. "Let it be known that Lucy Preston isn't above sabotage."

Despite her general feeling of being lost in this strange new timeline, she manages a brittle grin. "Or maybe I'm just a klutz."

"A likely story," Rufus says with a scoff. "One I'm not buying for a single second."

They gather the girls and their belongings. Each girl has a backpack and then there's one large joint tote. Neither Lucy or Wyatt had any idea that children required so much _stuff_. Just as they're closing the back door of their oversized SUV, Jiya comes running up to them with a pair of tiny red western boots in one hand.

"You almost left these behind," she says as she hands them over to Lucy. "That would have been a _travesty_. Amy would freak. She hasn't taken them off for like two weeks."

Lucy has no idea which one Amy is and no connection to the child sized boots in her hand but she nods her thanks and stows them with Amy's personalized backpack, which is coincidentally covered in a red horseshoe print. She assumes Amy likes horses (or maybe cowboys?).

"Wyatt brought them back from his last field assignment in Colorado," Jiya tells her, sensing that Lucy might need additional information. "He brought Flynn a pair of ski goggles, which she pretends are aviator goggles. Little daredevil girlfriend wants to be Amelia Earhart when she grows up."

Lucy takes a deep calming breath as she files the information away. "Oh god, I have so much to learn about them, don't I?"

Jiya squeezes her arm and gives her a tight hug. "It'll come. As long as you love them, it'll come."

Loving them won't be a problem, she knows. She fell in love with them the minute she saw Wyatt in their tiny faces. No matter where she and Wyatt are with each other, these girls came from both of them. They are products of a love she always wanted but never had a chance to enjoy. She will love them with everything she has. They will be her solace in the midst of her turmoil.

If nothing else, she will figure out how to be the mother they deserve.

They follow Denise to a house that looks exactly as Lucy imagined it. Plenty of space but not _too much_ space. There are two small bikes with training wheels haphazardly strewn across the yard, along with a plastic bat and ball set. The garage has two doors. Wyatt finds the opener clipped to the visor above his head and pulls in. Parked next to them is a silver four door sedan, bland and boring, with two popsicle stick pipe cleaner men hanging from the mirror and carseats in the back. There's a Stanford Faculty parking sticker on the back windshield that Lucy recognizes from her time on staff. She assumes the sedan is hers.

They step out and each take a twin. Denise meets them at the door that leads from the garage to the kitchen and lets them in. She apparently has a key and came in the front door. She leads them up a short set of stairs to a cluttered room with two twin beds and sky blue walls. There's a name hanging above each bed in messily painted wooden blocks. Lucy takes one look at the nightgown on the twin she's holding and grins. She now knows which one she is.

It's a flannel nightgown with a print that features little silhouettes of running horses.

 _Amy_.

She sets her down on the corresponding bed and tucks her in. She smiles softly at the trinkets on the little girls nightstand. The lamp is also a figure of a cowgirl with a lasso raised high in the air and there's a water cup featuring Jessie, the cowgirl from _Toy Story_. With blankets tucked securely around her, Lucy instinctively places a kiss to the little girl's forehead and backs away. She doesn't know where the urge came from, but she knows it's right. She knows she can't leave the room without also giving one to Flynn. She and Wyatt exchange awkward glances as they trade places.

Lucy sees the goggles Jiya mentioned on Flynn's nightstand along with an illustrated children's biography of Amelia Earhart. There's also a small balsa wood airplane next to a tall thin lamp that she immediately recognizes as a reading lamp with an adjustable arm. The little details make everything feel lived in and _ordinary_. It should make her panic worse but oddly she finds only comfort. She kisses Flynn's head just as she did Amy's and then quietly heads to the door.

Wyatt takes a little longer than she does and she decides to give him a moment alone. During their stilted eye contact she could see a glassy quality to his eyes that indicated an intense emotion. He hasn't come to her about those emotions, well, _ever_ , so she leaves him to process. She finds Denise waiting for them in living room. She's seated in a plushy dark blue armchair, texting on her phone. Lucy sits down on the messy couch that's situated perpendicular to the chair.

A few minutes later, Wyatt slowly descends the stairs, his face schooled into a bland expression, and comes to stand behind the couch. Both of them are angled toward Denise.

She finishes her text and then apologizes. "Sorry, just letting Michelle know I'll be home a little later than I promised."

"If you need to go then—"

Denise cuts her off with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Oh, stop. You've been dropped into an unfamiliar situation. I'm not just going to drop you off here and leave." She finishes her text and then puts her phone away in her back pocket. "First, let's catch you up on the basics. Wyatt works for me at Homeland. As of right now, I'm giving him at least a two week leave. I'll check in with you after the New Year. Lucy, you're a professor at Stanford. Today was the last day of fall semester so you're on a break until the New Year as well which is good because they just gave you tenure and I don't think they'd take kindly to a freshly tenured professor going on sabbatical."

Lucy chuckles her agreement and shakes her head. "Probably not."

Lucy notices the corner of Wyatt's mouth twitch upward as Christopher mentions tenure. His emotionless eyes soften and flick over her briefly before they return to Denise. She wonders what exactly he's thinking that almost made him smile, but she knows she'll never find out. She's too emotionally distant from him to ask at the moment.

"I know two weeks probably isn't a lot of time to adjust given how long you've been fighting. Once that two weeks is over we'll decide how we proceed, okay?" Denise asks them in concern.

They both nod wordlessly.

"Now, what do you want to tell the girls in the morning?" Denise asks reluctantly. "Are you both going to stay here with them? Would you be able to do that? I don't know what your relationship or situation is where you're from, but all these girls have ever known is a happy and loving environment. I want you both to do whatever is healthiest for you, but I'd hate to see their sense of security shaken in any way."

Lucy looks over her shoulder at Wyatt and sees the same determination in his eyes that she feels. They don't want that either. They've painfully shared space for the last five years and managed it. They can do it for a while longer while they figure out where they stand.

"We'll both stay here," Lucy answers as she looks to Wyatt for confirmation.

He nods and swallows thickly. "I, uh, saw a guest bedroom next to the girls' room. I can stay there while we work out a more permanent solution."

"I think that's the right call," Denise agrees. "In the meantime, Wyatt, I'm setting up an appointment with one of Homeland's therapists—"

His eyes form a sharp glare and he takes a step closer to the back of the couch. "I don't need some shrink telling me how fucked up I am. Besides, what am I supposed to tell him, huh? I'm guessing time travel isn't any less classified in this timeline than ours—"

"If you want to keep your job," Denise orders sternly. "You will show up to whatever appointment I set. Otherwise, your leave becomes a bit more permanent. Understood?"

His jaw clenches. Lucy watches the muscles flex before he finally puffs out a frustrated sigh and rolls his neck as if he's preparing for a fight. "Understood, _Agent Christopher_."

The address in his statement is so angry and impersonal. Lucy bites back her wince. He's going to be irritated for the rest of the night now. She'll have to listen to him brooding long after Christopher leaves.

"And I know I'm not your boss or your mother, Lucy, and I have no right to tell you to do anything, but you might want to start seeing someone too," Christopher suggests in a more gentle tone as her eyes find Lucy's.

Lucy has no plans to cry on a stranger's couch and let them analyze all of her mistakes or tell her how her mother's controlling nature impacts her daily life. She already understands both of those things. But for Denise's sake she says, "I'll consider it."

"That's all I ask," Denise tells her before her eyes take on a stern stare. "Honestly, if I had the authority to force you to go too, I would. No one is prepared to deal with the trauma of what you two have been through. Especially not alone." She levels them both with her best scolding look and points in the direction of Amy and Flynn's room. "Those little girls deserve you both at your best and there's no shame in letting other people help you get there."

Lucy's determination to dismiss Christopher's advice wavers as she brings up the twins. It's a damn good point and Lucy wants nothing more than to be the version of herself that they knew. Joyful and satisfied with her circumstances. Comfortable in the world around her. Strong enough to handle their fears and her own. She doubts her capacity to do that in her current state, but maybe she could manage it with help.

"I—" Lucy cuts off her automatic response that would have been intended to merely placate Denise, and instead gives her a genuine reply. "Do you...do you have anyone you recommend?" She asks. "I wouldn't know where to start."

Denise sighs in relief and smiles warmly. "I can get you a list of names and phone numbers in the next few days."

"Thank you," she says quietly. She doesn't want to do it. In fact, she's dreading it with every bit of mental stability she has left. But she'll do anything to make sure those girls are happy and healthy and safe.

"Happy to do it," Denise tells her as she reaches across the distance between them and squeezes her hand. "Alright," she says as she stands from the arm chair. "I'm going to go. Something tells me you two need to talk. Probably without an audience."

"Probably, unless you want to call a total stranger to sit and observe us. You know, since we're such a danger to ourselves and all," Wyatt snaps with a hard roll of his eyes and a scoff.

"You know, Wyatt, when you showed up in 2018 five years ago, the other you - the one I knew - got a much needed smack in the head. He saw in you all of his worst fears, not just for himself but for Lucy too, and it scared the sense back into him," Denise says through a tense jaw.

Lucy can see the sadness and frustration in her eyes. As tough as this is for them, it must be worse for their friends. She and Wyatt aren't going to be easy to deal with.

"Your point?" Wyatt asks with an annoyed scowl.

"No point," she replies in exasperation. "I'm just hoping you'll look in the mirror and see what he saw. An angry man with no one and nothing because he _chose_ to drown in self hatred. It might be the only thing that will save you. After all, it saved him. _You_ saved him."

The scowl falls from his face and his eyes drop to the floor. His shoulders slump and he steps back to lean against the far wall. Those words have hit him square in the chest and it's beyond obvious. Lucy has seen Wyatt react in a variety of ways to words from friends and enemies alike but she's never seen him retreat so far so quickly. If she hadn't witnessed the interaction herself, she would think Christopher had slapped him.

"Have a good night, you two," Denise says with one last sad glance at Wyatt. "If you need me I'm only a phone call away, okay?"

Lucy stands from the couch and surprises herself by eagerly wrapping her arms around Denise in a tight embrace. It's then that she remembers how different things were just a few hours ago. Denise was _dead_ and now she's here offering advice and lectures like the parents Lucy no longer had. She's being forceful with them because she _cares_ — because she's _worried_. Neither she nor Wyatt have had that in quite some time.

Lucy's eyes are watering as she continues to hug Denise. She feels Denise's arms squeeze her just as tightly and hears a ragged breath escape the senior Homeland Security Agent.

"Thank you," Lucy whispers through her own tears. "Thank you for being here."

"Anytime," Denise replies before she places a motherly kiss on Lucy's cheek. "You four mean the world to me. When I say I'm only one phone call away, I mean it. Alright?"

Lucy pulls out of the hug and nods while she breathes through the tears in her eyes. "Okay."

Denise pats her cheek with a loving soft smile and then steps away. She glances past Lucy to Wyatt again.

"Good night, Wyatt," she says with a tired sigh.

He looks up from the floor and gives her a weak wave. When he speaks his tone is full of remorse, but doesn't apologize. "Good night. Thank you for your help."

"My pleasure," she tells him. Her eyes stay connected to his for a moment. Whatever it is she's trying to communicate Wyatt seems to understand. He releases a breath and stands a little straighter before giving Christopher a clipped nod. Denise nods in reply and then gives them both one final wave.

A moment later she's out the door, locking it behind her with her key, and leaving Lucy and Wyatt truly alone for the first time since they stepped out of the Lifeboat.

Awkward silence descends upon them instantly. They stand across from each other both avoiding any and all eye contact. Finally, Wyatt clears his throat and speaks reluctantly.

"Um, earlier, when we put the girls to bed, how did you know who was who?" He asks.

She laughs lightly and shrugs. "Jiya caught me before we left to give me Amy's red cowboy boots and I wasn't really sure which one was Amy at first, but then I started to notice a trend. Her backpack is covered in horseshoes, her nightgown has horses on it...it all just came together."

Wyatt smirks and nods. "She has red cowboy boots?"

"Apparently, you bought them for her on your last field assignment for Christopher and she hasn't taken them off for two weeks," Lucy says as a full smile takes over her face. "You bought Flynn a pair of ski goggles, by the way. She pretends they're aviator goggles because she wants to be—"

"Amelia Earhart?" Wyatt asks knowingly with his own teeth baring smile. "Yeah, I saw the book on her nightstand and the little plane."

Her eyes are stuck on his smile. She can't seem to look away from it. He can't seem to look away from hers either. A smile, _a real smile_ , is such a strange thing to them both and despite the many unknowns they're currently facing it's a _captivating_ sight.

He lets out a chuckle that sounds like it's full of disbelief. "We have kids. Twin daughters, to be exact."

She nods and feels her eyes crinkle as her smile somehow widens. "And they're perfect."

"Yeah, well, they take after you so that's no surprise," Wyatt says in a shockingly gentle voice.

She blushes and shakes her head. "You and I both know that I am far from perfect." She lets out a self deprecating snort. "I'm actually a big fucking mess. Basically, all the time."

"Me too," he agrees in a hushed tone. He's quiet for a moment before he retreats to the wall again and presses his back against it. He glares at the floor and shakes his head as he continues in a frantic voice. "God, Lucy, who the hell am I kidding? I can't do this. I mean, my dad was a mean bastard. Angry, hateful—two things that I feel almost all the time now. I mean, what if I—what if I'm no better than he is? I can't put them through that. I can't do to them—or you—what he did to me."

He refuses to look up at her as he runs a hand over his beard and then bangs a fist against the wall. She flinches. She can't help it. Wyatt notices and it only causes him to dive deeper into this self loathing spiral he's stumbled into.

"I shouldn't be here," he says insistently. "I should go. They—they'll be better off, you know? I'm not the man they've grown up with and what if I...what if I can never be him? What if I'm doomed to be my old man and all the work I put in to avoid it was useless? No. No, I should find a hotel or something. Get out of your way."

She wants to run away from him when talks like that. She hates it. He underestimates himself. He always has. She knows he's angry. She knows he's disappointed in himself. But he's always been better than he believes. Even when she's pissed at him she knows that. No amount of resentment she harbors toward him could change that essential truth. In fact, she would argue that his lack of belief in himself caused some of their distance.

So, she wants to cover her ears and pretend she doesn't hear him, but she can't. Not when he's talking like he might leave her. He's the only person who's been through what she's been through. He's the only person who will truly understand. The idea of doing this without him sets off panic in her chest. Everything is unfamiliar here and even if they're on awful terms with each other at least she _knows him._ She knows what to expect from him. He's the _only_ thing she still knows in this foreign timeline. He cannot leave her to deal with this by herself. She'll never survive it. _She needs him._

He moves to rush up the stairs, probably to find whatever door hides their bedroom, but she steps in front of him. He nearly knocks her over but manages a halting stop. They are chest to chest and nose to nose. Her tearful gaze catches his and holds it steady.

"If you leave me here alone I will never forgive you, Wyatt Logan," she says with a loud gulping swallow. The tears she'd almost shed with Agent Christopher are back in full force. "Earlier tonight, you said we were in the same boat. You _said_ you were here with me. You've broken promises to me before and that's fine. I understood those choices, but you cannot break this one. _You can't._ You cannot leave me _now_."

"Lucy, what if I'm not good enough for them?" He asks her as tears pool in his eyes too. He's speaking to her but his eyes aren't really looking at her. He's lost in his fear. She's only seen him like this one other time. Back before they shredded each other to pieces. "What if I break them the way he broke me?"

Oh god, this man. They have had their issues, still do. He's made mistakes and reacted badly to the people around him. But he could never be that cruel. He's not capable of it. How does he not see that in himself? She takes a deep breath and does exactly what she did the last time he looked this despondent.

She cradles his face in her hands in a desperate grip. She forces his eyes to hers and tries to speak through his insecurities.

"You are not your father, Wyatt. You just _aren't_."

"How can you say that?" He asks. "I—you've been my collateral damage before. You _know_ how that feels."

She blinks at him in shock. What? He's never struck her. He's never even once acted like he wanted to. How can he think—and then she remembers. She remembers the stray elbow she caught once years ago. "Oh my god, you can't mean—Are you talking about that fight with Flynn?"

"I hit you, Lucy," he says as the tears continue to build in his eyes. "I. Hit. _You_."

"That was an accident," she reminds him as her tone softens and her thumbs stroke his cheeks. She hasn't been this close or this tender with him in too long. She feels the familiar tug in her heart that always comes with being close to Wyatt in any capacity. This is normally when she would pick a fight, but not now. _Not tonight._ "You didn't do that maliciously, Wyatt. It wasn't on purpose. I've always known that. _Always_. I have never once held that against you. Of all the things I have raged at you about, that has never been one of them. Not _once_. Have you been holding on to that all this time?"

"It shouldn't have happened," he tells her as one tear falls from his eyes and he tries to pull out of her hold.

She holds him firmly so he can't look away and shakes her head. "No, it shouldn't have. That's why it was an accident. You didn't mean to do it. You have hurt me, Wyatt, I will be the first person to tell you that, but you have never made me feel unsafe. I have never once been scared of you. Scared of what you make me feel? Yes. But scared of you? _Not ever._ I trust you with my life even now. And I trust you with our daughters. It never occurred to me not to. Is that clear?"

"I never meant to hurt you, Lucy. I hate myself for it. I never wanted to hurt you. You have to believe me," he pleads with eyes that are red and raw.

She believes him. She's always believed him. He's so eager for her to know. He's beside himself trying to make her understand. She sucks in a ragged breath as her own tears fall. "I know. I have always known that. I never meant to hurt you either. We were both just trying to make the best out of a bad situation. I get that. You don't have to convince me of that."

"I never meant to hurt you and yet I still did. What if I hurt them too? I destroy everything I touch. They don't deserve that. You don't deserve that. They deserve _you_. They don't need me. I'm poison, Lucy. I always have been. For Jessica. For you. For Rufus—"

"Stop. God, Wyatt, just _stop_ ," she says with breathless sob. He is breaking her heart. She didn't even know she had one left to break but she feels it all the same. "You are not _poison_. Do you really believe that? Please tell me you don't."

He doesn't say anything and that's as good as any answer he could give her.

Her chin trembles under the strain of holding back her tears and her grip on his face tightens. Her knuckles are white and she wants to get through to him so badly that she nearly shakes him as she speaks. Again, with words that are far away but familiar.

"You're wrong, Wyatt Logan. You cannot be more wrong because I _do_ need you. After all this time, I'm not even sure I know who I am without you. I don't want to figure this out with anyone else. I trust _you._ I _need_ you." She stops her frantic pleading to breathe in slowly. While she's attempting to calm herself down she feels his hands encircle her waist and hold on tight. Like she's a life preserver in a stormy sea. They have tried to avoid being this physically and emotionally tangled in each other for years, but right now she doesn't give a damn. She cannot let him think so poorly of himself. _She can't_. "I need you, Soldier. Okay?"

Much like that day at Alamo, his vision clears and he gives her a subtle nod. "Okay."

" _Please_ , don't leave," she begs.

"I won't," he promises. " _I won't._ "

"If I wake up in the morning and you're not here—"

"I _won't_ leave you, Lucy. Not this time," he repeats. "Not unless you kick me out. Which, let's be honest, you might do."

She's ready to scold him when a tiny smirk blossoms on his face. He's joking. Relief floods her chest and her hold on his face relaxes. _He's joking._

"Is now really the best time for that joke?" She asks lightly as she fights off a grin.

A watery chuckle escapes him along with a soft sniffle. "Gotta do something to keep from crying, Professor."

"You scared me just now," she tells him honestly. She has to force the words out, but he needs to know. She has to start telling him the truth at some point. Might as well be now.

"I scared myself," he admits with a shaky sigh. "I'm sorry."

"After this, do you still think therapy is a bad idea?" She asks him hesitantly.

He winces at her words and she prepares herself for the sarcastic jab, but it never comes. Instead he says, "I might be coming around to it."

To say she's surprised would be an understatement. So, she pushes it a little further.

"I know we both hate to admit it, but Denise had some excellent points," she says softly as she slowly removes her hands from his face.

The desperate moment is over and she's starting to let herself sink into the nearness of him. She can't do that. Not yet, at least. He seems to read that from her movements and releases her waist while taking one step backward.

He nods with a serious expression. "I'll think about it."

"What do we do about the girls?" She asks as she tries to change the subject.

"What can we do? We can't tell them the truth," he says thoughtfully. "We just say we look a little different and answer any questions they have as honestly as we can."

That sounds perfectly logical. So logical that it's almost guaranteed not to work. But he's right. There's not much else that they can do.

"So, what, we play house?" Lucy asks him with a furrowed brow. "Can we maintain that? I mean they're going to notice that you and I aren't as... _close_ as the parents they knew."

"Do you want to tell them their parents aren't _together_ anymore?" Wyatt asks her in a strained voice. "I sure as hell don't."

She shakes her head and then rubs her temples. She feels her headache from earlier returning but this time it has nothing to do with time travel. "No, I don't. But...does that mean we spend the rest of our lives pretending?"

"I don't know, Lucy," he answers honestly. "I guess we just...we take it as it comes."

She grins slightly at that. "One problem at a time?"

He chuckles and nods. "Breaking out the old team motto. I see what you're doing, Preston."

She holds his gaze and grins at him for a lingering moment. This truce they've been forced into is nice. Constantly sniping back and forth with him has been exhausting and she's glad to be able actually _talk_ to him again.

"So, I guess we just...see how the girls react in the morning," she says as she lifts a shoulder with feigned carelessness. "No big deal. Like nothing's really changed except our appearance."

"I think that's probably best," Wyatt agrees.

"Then I guess there's nothing left to do but sleep," Lucy says as she finally begins to feel the heaviness in her eyelids.

"And shower," Wyatt says eagerly. "I'm still covered in all that dust from HQ."

"You mean our cave that we generously named HQ?" Lucy asks with a scoff.

"That's the one," He replies with a chuckle.

"Well, there was only one bathroom in the hall," She tells him as she tries to recall the layout of the second floor. "So I'm assuming our bedroom has a master bath. There is no way I'd move into a house with one bathroom after living in the Bunker."

"No, definitely not," he agrees as he gives her a teasing grin.

"So, you go first," she tells him. "I can wait."

What she means is that once he finishes in the master bath she can lock the bedroom door and take her time. She won't have to worry about leaving any hot water for him if he goes first.

"Uh huh," Wyatt says before he pins her down with a knowing expression. "It has nothing to do with you wanting to use all the hot water, right?"

"No," she calls after him as he walks toward the stairs.

"Liar," he throws back over his shoulder. He stops on the bottom step and turns to face her again with just a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Good night, Lucy."

"Good night, Wyatt," she responds.

He finds her eyes intently, making an implicit promise, as he speaks again. "I'll see you in the morning."

"You'd better," she says with an emphatic nod.

An apologetic look of genuine understanding passes between them and she knows he'll keep his promise. He'll be there for her, and the girls, in the morning.


	2. Scars

**A/N:** Here's part two! Thank you so much to everyone who left reviews! If you feel so inclined I would love to hear what you think in the little review box at the bottom. Especially since this fic is gonna be lost to FFN's default search filters due to the rating. :)

The story continues! This part covers the first couple of days with the girls! Enjoy!

HAPPY READING!

angellwings

PS - Here's where it earns that M rating I promised -wink-

* * *

PART TWO: Scars

* * *

" _Look at this heart shaped wreckage,  
What have we done?  
We've got scars from battles nobody won.  
We can start over, better,  
Both of us know, _

_If we just let the broken pieces,  
Let the broken pieces go."_

 _-"Heart Shaped Wreckage", SMASH_

* * *

He meant to make it to the guest bedroom before he fell asleep. But he didn't. After his shower he went back downstairs. He wanted to know more about this family and this house.

He found tidy boxes of photos, labeled by year. Each box was sorted by month. He started with 2018, which shared a box with 2019. Right where he left his alternate self. The last common memory he and this Wyatt had was sitting next to Lucy in the Bunker, wallowing in their shared grief. He meant to look through a few photos. Maybe a month or two.

But once he started he couldn't stop. There was overwhelming happiness in every photo, beginning on Christmas in 2018. There was a picture of he and Lucy in front of the tree in the Bunker, kissing. It wasn't a posed shot, but a candid. A private moment that someone captured for them. New Years Eve that year gave him a picture of them laughing and toasting. January had pictures of an empty apartment he didn't recognize and then pictures of that same apartment filled with things he did recognize, including himself and Lucy as they took a selfie in the living room. He was beaming at the camera and she was kissing his cheek. Milestone moments that he would never remember. Joy he never felt.

And it kept going. Stashed between photos in May was a black and white sonogram, labeled "Babies Preston-Logan 8 weeks" and from then on there was at least one photo of a pregnant Lucy every month like clockwork. She was beautiful, glowing and gorgeous. He has never seen himself look more besotted with anyone as he looked with Lucy in those photos.

Finally, in November, was a picture of a tired but ecstatic Lucy holding two babies in pink blankets. But it came after several scary photos of the girls in the NICU. They were tiny, and a month early. There were no pictures of himself or Lucy during that time and no indication of how long they were there. He knew the girls were upstairs asleep, but emotionally he felt that powerless fear he must have felt then. That Christmas, they had their friends over to their apartment. Everyone had photos with the girls. Jiya and Rufus. Denise and Michelle. Mark and Olivia. Even Connor Mason, who looked justifiably amazed and terrified by the tiny bundles in his arms.

He must have fallen asleep on the couch before he could switch to the next box, though, because now he feels soreness in his neck from sleeping at an odd angle and hears little soft voices from the direction of the stairs.

"That's daddy."

"No, its not! His face is furry! Daddy's face isn't furry."

"It's a little furry."

"Not like that. That's icky."

The girls. The girls are _awake_. And they do not like his beard. Their voices are higher than he imagined. One of the girls has a slight lisp. His heart clenches at the sound.

"We should find mommy. She would know if that's daddy."

"Mommy's sleeping. Daddy doesn't like us to wake her."

"But...there's a stranger on our couch!"

"Shh! You'll wake him up!"

They are attempting to whisper, but they aren't very good at it. He keeps his eyes closed, not wanting to startle them. Though, they already sound startled just by his mere presence. They think he's a stranger. They don't know how right they actually are. But he knows it's just the damn beard making him unrecognizable to them. He can't blame them for that. Their father didn't have one yesterday.

"We need to get mommy."

He hears an annoyed huff and then an answer with an exaggerated pout. "Okay." A beat and then. "But when we find daddy I'm telling him you made me do it."

He fights off a grin as he listens to their footfalls fade in the opposite direction.

Several minutes later, he hears them again, accompanied by slightly heavier feet that he knows well.

There's a sigh of relief that he recognizes as Lucy's and then she speaks. "Girls, that's not a stranger."

"Then who is it?"

"That's your dad," Lucy says confidently.

Those words cause yet another clench in his heart, especially from Lucy. He doesn't want to think too much on _why_. Not right then.

"I told you so!"

"But he has hair _on his face_."

Face comes out "faith" and he bites the inside of his cheek to keep from chucking.

"He just looks a little different," Lucy explains patiently. "You know, like mommy and her new haircut?"

He hears a lengthy mournful sigh before a little voice replies softly. "Your hair was _so pretty_ , mommy."

"I know, baby, I'm sorry. It'll grow out," Lucy says with restrained amusement in her tone.

"You promise?"

"I promise."

Try as he might, that does it. He can't hold back a grin anymore. The whole scene is too adorable and innocent to ignore any longer. He should have known Lucy would notice, though.

"Wyatt?" She asks skeptically. "Are you asleep?"

The words pull a memory out of him that's long buried and his reply leaves his lips before he can stop it. "No, ma'am."

He opens one eye as a crooked smirk forms on his face. He doesn't miss the nostalgic look that passes over Lucy's expression at his words. One of the girls gasps in recognition and smacks the smaller one's arm.

"See?! I told you!"

"So he called her ma'am, that doesn't mean he's daddy!"

"Daddy's the only person allowed to call her that! Yes, it does!"

"It does _not!_ "

"Does so!"

"Does not!"

"Does. _So."_

Oh good God. Lucy sighs helplessly and gives him a pleading look as the girls continue to yell back and forth. He's had enough too but he can't bring himself to raise his voice. None of this is their fault. It's natural for them to be unsure. Really, he should just shave the damn beard. He only grew it because he stopped _caring_ about his reflection. Stopped looking in mirrors at all really. There was nothing worth seeing there anymore.

He remembers the razor and shaving cream he saw by his sink in the master bath the night before and gets an idea. He stands suddenly, scoops up both girls — one in each arm — and carries them into his and Lucy's bedroom. They stop shouting as soon as he moves from the couch and he can feel them staring at him warily. He doesn't stop till he reaches the bathroom. He deposits them both on the empty counter between the his and hers sinks and then meets one tiny gaze before switching to the other.

"I know how to settle this," he tells them with a decisive nod. "Once and for all."

"How?" The smaller one asks as she narrows her eyes on him.

It's a look that resembles Lucy so strongly that he has to stop for a moment to process it. There will never be any doubt as to who their mother is. They are obviously Preston women.

"Just watch," he says as he moves to his sink and reaches for his razor.

* * *

It takes Lucy a moment to catch up with the flurry of movement. By the time she does, Wyatt's face is covered in shaving cream and the razor is poised for its first swipe. She leans against the door frame and settles in to watch.

With every stroke he makes and the more hair he removes, the girls seem that much more at ease. He playfully wipes two foamy globs of shaving cream across their cheeks and both girls squeal in laughing delight. Once he's done, he washes his face and then cleans the shaving cream off of them with a damp washcloth. His hands move carefully and tenderly across their cheeks. She remembers when he used to be that careful with her. The memories are distant at best, but she can still _feel_ his touch. She wishes she couldn't. It might hurt less.

He sets the rag aside and then braces one hand on either side of them. Ensuring they won't slip off the counter and allowing him to be at their eye level. Ever the protector.

"Wyatt Logan," he says as he removes one hand from the counter and holds it out to Flynn for a shake.

She giggles and takes his hand for a solid shake. "Flynn Preston-Logan."

"Nice to meet you," Wyatt replies with a wink before he turns a teasing glare on Amy. "And _you_ my tiny Doubting Thomas. Who are you?"

Amy's neck and shoulders straighten with pride before she answers loudly. "Amy Preston-Logan."

"Good to meet you," he tells her as he holds out his hand to her as well. "I'm your dad."

Amy's eyes squint as she studies him. She ignores his outstretched hand and reaches out to place her much smaller hands on his freshly shaven cheeks. Her hands tug at the corners of his mouth until his lips form a smile that's pulled unnaturally tight across his face. She laughs brightly and then nods.

"Found you!" She yells excitedly. She turns to Flynn with her hands still on Wyatt's cheeks. "Look, sis! I found daddy!"

"He was always daddy, silly!" Flynn replies with a roll of her eyes.

"Nuh uh! Not until he smiled! We couldn't see his smile through all the fur!" Amy disagrees. "Now we can! See?"

Amy turns back to Wyatt and pulls his cheek to her lips for a loud smacking kiss. Wyatt looks stunned. His expression is soft and warm and his eyes are the brightest shade of blue she's ever seen. It's a joltingly sweet exchange that leaves her—and him too it seems—a bit weak. Once Amy's done, Flynn follows her lead and wraps her arms around Wyatt's neck to kiss his other cheek.

"I knew you were daddy," Flynn whispers loudly. "But Amy is right about the fur."

Lucy laughs softly and subconsciously places a hand over her heart to accompany the pangs of fond affection taking root there. These girls are everything good and beautiful in the world. They are kind hearted adventurous souls and Lucy wants nothing more than to love them for the rest of her life. Tears gather in her eyes, but for once they aren't sad. This time she feels joy and... _hope_. She will conquer any obstacle placed in front of her and she'll do it _for them_. Her girls.

Wyatt's eyes find hers and he looks as taken with their twins as she is. Her fears that he might leave evaporate in an instant. This life may be new to them, but she knows neither of them would give it up. Not now. Not ever.

Amy then holds out her arms to Wyatt expectantly and demands, "Take me to my breakfast!"

"Oh! Me too! Me too!" Flynn echoes.

It becomes immediately clear that Amy is the leader, despite being smaller.

"I don't think we heard a please anywhere in there," Lucy says from the doorway.

The chorus of a sickeningly saccharine "please" is entirely expected, but music to her ears nonetheless.

Breakfast is calm and orderly. Wyatt makes pancakes and bacon. Lucy does the dishes because five years in a different timeline still hasn't changed the fact that she can't cook. But breakfast is the only thing that's calm and orderly. The rest of the day is chaotic and not just because of the girls. They're scrambling to find their bearings and hoping the girls don't notice. Plus keeping up with two four year olds is exhausting. They play, they get to know them better, they put them in a time out or two, and then it's bedtime.

The girls are tucked in, Wyatt read from _I Am Amelia Earhart_ , they kissed Amy's stuffed animals goodnight, and they both assumed that was it. But as they kiss the girls' foreheads and try to leave the room, it's clear that is not _it_. There is more to this bedtime ritual than they first thought.

"Wait! What about the song! You can't leave without the song!" Amy cries urgently.

Flynn nods and waves them both back into room. "Yes! Sing daddy's song, mommy!"

"Daddy's song?" Lucy asks with a furrowed brow. "Refresh my memory. What song is that?"

"Silly! His favoritist song ever," Amy tells her with wild flailing limbs. "You know."

Amy pauses and then hums a bit of the song. For a child she has more ability than Lucy expects, but even if she didn't that song would be easily recognizable. It's burned into her memory so much so that she hasn't been able listen to it, even for a moment, since that night.

"You Made Me Love You?" Lucy asks reluctantly. She's desperately hoping she's wrong.

"Yes! That's it!" Amy says excitedly. "Sing it for us, mommy! Please?"

Imploring faces and wide eyes focus on her eagerly and she's not sure how she can say no. It seems highly unlikely. She's about to confront memories she's been trying to hide from for five long years. It feels like a test of what she's willing to do to make her daughters happy and she's determined to pass.

Even if it hurts like fucking hell.

* * *

Wyatt knows the minute they say "daddy's favorite" exactly which song they mean. It takes Lucy a moment to understand or maybe she's hoping they'll say something else. But no, they say exactly the song he's thinking about. The song he's tried to forget exists but can't. The song he still hears in his dreams sometimes.

"It has to be _that_ song?" Lucy asks as she chews the inside of her cheek.

"It's what you sing to us every night," Flynn says with a pout.

Lucy sighs and nods and then takes a seat in the chair between the twin beds. Wyatt hovers in the doorway to watch. He feels like it's only fair that he stay and listen if Lucy has to sing, but he can't bring himself to step all the way into the room again. That song was part of an important moment for both of them. It was hurtful to _both of them_. It holds good memories that they aren't sure they will ever be able to recapture, and precedes bad ones that they can't seem to forget.

" _You...made me love you,_

 _I didn't want to do it  
I didn't want to do it  
You made me want you  
And all the time you knew it  
I guess you always knew it."_

Her voice is shaky and raw with emotion, but still beautiful. He knows it's been a long time since she's used it. If the girls notice a difference they don't show it. They settle back in their pillows and close their eyes with contented smiles on their faces. Amy hugs her stuffed horse to her chest and Flynn turns on her side to face Lucy with her hands tucked under her chin. It's a domestic picture that Wyatt honestly never thought he would be lucky enough to see.

It must be effecting Lucy too because her voice cracks over the next line. He wants to reach for her, but the way she stepped away from him the last time he did that comes to mind and he keeps his hands to himself.

" _You made me happy sometimes  
You made me glad  
But there were times  
You made me feel so bad  
You made me cry for  
I didn't want to tell you  
I didn't want to tell you…"_

The song trails off as the girls eyes flutter and their breathing deepens. He can't see Lucy's face but she stops singing as soon as the girls are asleep and he thinks that's telling enough. She stands and brushes past him through the doorway briskly. She doesn't even pause to look back at the girls. Wyatt closes the door behind him, careful to leave it cracked. Amy and Flynn had been sure to tell him they liked to be able to see light from the hallway. He descends the stairs and finds Lucy in the kitchen, furiously doing dishes.

He clears his throat to alert her to his presence and then leans against the counter next to the sink. "If you scrub those dishes any harder you'll scrub the pattern right off of them."

"Good," she mutters. "Who buys dishes with a gingham and apple print anyway?"

"Probably you," he answers with a grin. "But that's besides the point." His expression sobers before he continues, carefully. "Are you angry or are you sad? I know you have to be one of those because that couldn't have been easy for you—"

She stops him and drops the dishes back into the soapy water. "I'm both, Wyatt. Both. What about you? You didn't have to stay and listen."

"I know," he admits. "I stayed because it didn't seem fair to leave you."

She grabs the dish again. Her scrubbing slows down and becomes less frantic as her expression softens. "Thank you."

"Anytime," he replies with a face just as soft as hers.

"Have you found the laundry room?" She asks as she not so subtly changes the subject. "Eventually we will have to do laundry and I feel like we should know where the washer and dryer are."

"I haven't found much of anything," he admits. "Just the things that the girls absolutely needed. We seem to have made those things the easiest to access."

She sighs and nods. "Same here. We need time by ourselves in the house to really explore. I don't know enough. I haven't even found any photo albums. I have no idea what those two adorable monsters looked like before I first laid eyes on them last night. If I'm going to be their mother, shouldn't I know that?"

"We don't have photo albums," Wyatt offers with a guilty sigh. He probably should have waited for her to look through the photos.

"We have to," Lucy says thoughtfully, not understanding his meaning. "I love pictures. Never really been a fan of scrapbooks but I love pictures. We have to have some."

"We do," he tries again. "Just not in an album."

"You found them?" She asks excitedly.

"Last night," he tells her. "We keep them in boxes labelled by year and then organized by month. I fell asleep looking through them."

"Oh, I want to look through them too!" She exclaims with a jealous pout. She looks annoyed and yet all he feels is amusement as she goes on. "But I am so tired. I don't think I can make it much longer tonight. We're probably going to have a lot more days like this, aren't we? We're never going to have time to really figure out this house or try and learn about the girls over the last four years, or even what we're supposed to know about us." She holds up her left hand and then huffs irritably. "Like our rings. How are we supposed to play house without them? Do we even have them? Are they with the other us? How long have we been married? We need to address these things before we go back into the real world."

"As long as the munchkins keep us busy, we'll probably never know," Wyatt tells her with a furrowed brow.

"What if we got someone to watch them just for a night?" Lucy asks. "Maybe Denise? She did offer to help."

He nods. It's a good idea. "I'll call her. Can't hurt to ask."

Denise agrees without a moment's hesitation. She tells them they absolutely needed to learn as much as they can about their new timeline as quickly as possible. They will bring the girls to her and Michelle after breakfast in the morning.

"Besides with a thirteen year old and college kid in my house, Michelle and I would love to spend a whole day with those monkeys," Denise told him with a genuine smile in her voice. "What's family for, hm?"

Family. He and Lucy have family. Sure, not biological family, but that didn't matter. What mattered is how they took care of each other. Neither his nor Lucy's biological families had done a decent job of that. Their friends are infinitely more deserving of the family title than anyone else.

Lucy is thrilled. Her mood caused by reliving "their" song is brightened and he's able to put away with the dishes with their patterns all still perfectly in place.

Wyatt decides the best way to avoid awkward questions from the girls about why he's sleeping in the guest room is to not let them know he's sleeping in the guest room. Which means he's up at five in the morning to make sure they don't wake up before him. He's unsure of this Wyatt's workout regimen. Is he a runner? Does he use the gym at work? Does he have a space somewhere in the house with work out equipment? He doesn't know so he doesn't even try. He makes coffee, grabs the paper, and tries to play catch up on current affairs in a timeline that isn't his own.

Before long the girls are scrambling down the stairs and climbing all over him. Amy is in his lap and Flynn has jumped up and is clinging around his neck over the back of his chair. Amy is blinking sleepily and leaning back into his chest while Flynn chats a mile a minute. It's obvious who takes after who when it comes to sleeping habits. Even more so, when Lucy stumbles into the kitchen in a familiar floral robe that she completely did away with in their timeline. He missed that robe. There is something so essentially _Lucy_ about it.

Her eyes are half lidded, like Amy's, as she reaches blindly for the cabinet where they've hidden the coffee cups. He bites back a chuckle as she misses several times and hands her his empty mug instead. He's done with it anyway.

She mumbles a thank you before pouring herself a cup. Lucy sits down across from him and tries to shake away the sleep from her eyes. A moment later, Amy does the exact same gesture.

"What's for breakfast?" Flynn asks excitedly as her arms tighten around his neck and nearly choke him. "Can I help you cook?"

So, this is what a morning surrounded by Preston women is like. He has to admit, he doesn't hate it.

He passes Amy to Lucy, who immediately rests her chin on the top of Amy's head and then steals his paper.

"Mommy," Amy says through a yawn. "Can we look at the cartoons? I like _Marmaduke_."

"Sure, baby," Lucy replies as she kisses the top of Amy's head and flips through the pages.

Before he even starts a single dish, Flynn has found a step stool and pushed it up against the counter. In the split second he stopped to sentimentally observe Amy and Lucy, she's somehow found an apron and rolled up her sleeves.

"Ready!" She announces. "What are we making?"

Flynn gives him the impression that she's done this with him plenty of previous mornings. He no longer remembers those mornings but he tries not to let that show. She's excited to help him, but he's nervous. He's never cooked with a kid before. He's not sure what's too much for her or what's too risky. He tries to use his best common sense to figure it out. He walks her through cracking the eggs, and unlike her mother Flynn doesn't accidentally drop the egg shells. She catches him off guard by already knowing how to beat the eggs and he watches, while he cooks the bacon, with an impressed glance as she manages to keep most of the eggs in the bowl. Once that's done he keeps an eye on her as she sticks bread in the toaster. She seems startlingly adept at that too.

She turns a hopeful face to Lucy as she presses the bread down. "Can Amy and I have a Pop Tart with breakfast? _Please_?"

Amy's sleepy eyes brighten as she nods emphatically and brings folded hands up to her chin. "Please, mommy?"

Lucy quirks a brow at them and the trades a questioning look with Wyatt. He shrugs. As long as they eat eggs too he doesn't see any reason why not.

"Sure," Lucy agrees after he shrugs. "But you split a pack. One each."

"Yes!" Flynn yells excitedly as she opens the cabinet above the toaster. She knows exactly where to find them. "Amy, do you want cherry or blueberry?"

"Cherry!" Amy calls back in a voice that's more alert and chipper than she's been all morning.

Flynn switches the bread for Pop Tarts once it pops up and then turns to watch him cook. He finishes the bacon and then scrambles the eggs. By the time he's done Flynn has prepared four plates. Two with toast and bacon and two with a Pop Tart and bacon so that all Wyatt has to do is dish out the eggs. Efficient is an understatement when it comes to his little Sous Chef.

"Good job, kid," he tells her with a proud smile as he kisses the top of her head. "Take your plate to the table, okay?"

There are two chairs with booster seats at the kitchen table that Amy and Flynn get settled into. Lucy leaves the table to get more coffee and Wyatt grins as he passes her with Amy's plate.

"You know, it was nice having an assistant and not having to do _everything_ myself," he tells her teasingly.

"You don't want my help and you know it. I'm a disaster in front of a stove," she replies with a smirk.

"That's true. I guess we know where Flynn got her cooking talent then, huh?" He asks with a chuckle.

She rolls her eyes at him but laughs lightly, nearly negating the eye roll completely. They eat together at the table and tell the girls that they're spending the day with Denise and Michelle. That news is greeted with an ecstatic simultaneous cheer before they're scarfing down their breakfast and getting up from the table to "pack". Pack appears to mean narrowing down which toys to take with them. Amy stops at the threshold of the kitchen, though, and pulls Flynn back with her.

"Wait! We wanted to ask something."

Recognition flashes across Flynn's face and she nods for Amy to continue.

"It's two days till Christmas," Amy says worriedly. "When are we putting up decorations?"

"We don't even have the tree up yet!" Flynn adds in an outraged tone.

Lucy and Wyatt exchange unsure glances. They hadn't even thought about Christmas. They were too wrapped up in making things seem as normal as possible for them. Lucy gives the girls a thoughtful look before she speaks.

"We'll get the decorations out today and we'll decorate when you guys get home tomorrow," she answers hesitantly. She leans over to Wyatt as the girls run away with excited faces. "You know, if we can even find the decorations."

It's their first time packing up the girls to leave the house and Wyatt thinks Lucy over packed them out of sheer panic but he refuses to say anything. He and Lucy have been getting along pretty well. This is the longest they've gone without sniping at each other in ages. It's nice. He will not be the one to ruin it.

His thoughts are confirmed when Denise laughs at them as they drop off the girls. The girls hug and kiss them and then charge through the open door as if they know Denise's house as well as their own. For all Wyatt knows they actually might.

"Did you pack the whole house?" She asks as she takes the girls' backpacks and the two large totes Lucy packed.

"I've never done this before," Lucy whispers apologetically. "I figured better safe than sorry. You know?"

"Trust me," Denise says kindly as she squeezes Lucy's hand. "Michelle and I have been there. Our first outing with Mark had us looking more like pack mules than mothers."

"You sure you're okay watching them until tomorrow?" Wyatt asks. Honestly, he might be asking more for himself. He was just starting to get used to the whole dad thing and even taking a 24 hour break from it felt like wasted time.

"Trust me, Michelle has been looking forward to it all day," she assures him with a chuckle. "She has all kinds of fun things planned. We'll be fine. Get comfortable in that house and your new lives. Don't worry about us."

She hugs them both, something Wyatt didn't expect, and then shoos them back to their car.

"Go, _go_. We've got this," Denise tells them insistently.

A moment later they're back in the car and alone. Just like the last time they were alone, silence engulfs them. Without the girls as a buffer they're not entirely sure how to act around each other. Lucy goes stiff and indifferent and turns herself completely away from him to stare out the passenger side window.

He bites back a sigh and wishes things could be different. That _they_ could be different and that this domestic fantasy they're living could be real in every sense of the word. He wants it. He wants it more than he will ever let her know. He wants to be loving husband to Professor Lucy Preston of Stanford University and doting father to Amy and Flynn Preston-Logan, four year old wonders. But as it stands he can only be one of those things. Not only that, but as much as he _wants_ it, he's not sure he's worthy of it or that his presence is the best thing for Lucy. He seems to hurt her more often than he helps her. The vacant silence between them drives home the reminder of who they _actually_ are. He hates it. He hates what he's let them become. He feels frustration building in his chest as his hands tighten on the steering wheel. An irritated huff escapes him as he starts the car and puts it in reverse.

Lucy winces and somehow retreats further inward. He mentally curses himself for finding a way to make things worse. How does he always manage that? She's quiet and he expects her to be until long after they've gotten home. So, it's even more surprising when she breaks the silence before he's even made it to the street.

"It's two days till Christmas," Lucy says suddenly as they're pulling out of Denise's driveway.

"Yeah so?" They hadn't actually celebrated Christmas since Rufus died but it was hard to forget Amy and Flynn's less than discreet reminder. He's keenly aware how close they are to Christmas just as she is.

"Well, do we…I mean _did they_ have Christmas presents for the girls?" Lucy asks with a downturn set of her lips.

"They seem like ordinary responsible parents," Wyatt says with a shrug. "I'm sure they do."

"You're right. You're probably right."

She hasn't stopped frowning and biting the inside of her cheek, however, so there's still something wrong. He sighs tiredly and turns his eyes back to the road. His irritation from earlier continues to sizzle under his skin so his next words come out more forceful than he intends.

"What, Lucy?"

She stares at him thoughtfully for a moment before she finally speaks up. "If they _did_ buy presents, do we know where they would hide them?"

Oh. Good point. And also a problem.

One side of his mouth dares to quirk upward as he squints at the road and tries to think of the house they've barely been in. Nothing immediately jumps out at him.

"Nope," he answers with a matter of fact shake of his head. "No idea."

"We're going to be tearing the house apart looking for them when we get there, aren't we?" She asks as he sees her frown ease out of the corner of his eye.

"I'd say that's accurate, yes."

She goes quiet again and he starts to feel the pull of worry, something he's never been able to rid himself of when it comes to her. So he turns his head. Her head is in her hands and her shoulders are shaking. She can't be crying. Not in front of him at least. She hasn't let herself do that in _years_. He's this close to pulling the car over to the side of the road when her hands fall away and he realizes she's not crying.

She's _laughing_. Shaking with silent laughter like he's never seen before. Not even in happier times.

He feels her laughter tugging at him, at heartstrings he'd long since forgotten, as he asks, "You gonna clue me in on the joke, Preston?"

She wipes at the corners of her eyes, where mirthful tears have gathered, and tries to straighten her face. She fails miserably and ends up speaking through the remnants of her laughter. "It's just that a few days ago we were searching satellite images for Rittenhouse's new base of operations and today...today we're searching for our daughters' Christmas presents that alternate versions of us have hidden somewhere in their own house."

It really is _absurd_ and something that could only happen to the two of them, and then amazingly...he's laughing with her. Hard and loud. His vision blurs with tears and now he really does have to pull off the road. He parks in a small lot that he happens to pass outside of Denise and Michelle's development. And let's himself feel the full force of his disbelieving amusement.

"We really just went from one extreme to the other, didn't we?" He asks around booming laughs as he runs a hand over his clean shaven chin. Another reminder of how much has changed in less than 48 hours that does nothing to calm his laughter.

"Completely opposite lives and I have no goddamn idea what I'm doing," Lucy admits as another round of laughter hits her. "This is ridiculous. What are we even _doing_? I sat at _our_ kitchen table and read _Marmaduke_ to a sleepy four year old this morning. I mean is this some sort of shared delusion we're experiencing or something?"

The image abruptly comes to mind. He accidentally memorized the details of that particular scene. He liked it too much. He wanted to keep it. To keep _them_.

"It's so insanely perfect that it might have to be," he tells her with a chuckle. "This can't be our actual life now." He pauses and then meets her eyes with a small hopeful smile. "Can it?"

She takes a deep breath and meets his eyes in return with a smile that mirrors his. "I think it can. As impossible as it seems, I really think it can."

The laughter has subsided leaving them both with a strange feeling of wonder as Wyatt pulls back onto the road. They're quiet again, but this time it's not oppressive. It's contemplative. Comfortable. Comfortable is rare for them these days. They're never comfortable. Settled? Sure. Comfortable? Not really.

They pull in the garage and as they step over the threshold into the house Lucy throws a question over her shoulder.

"I'll search upstairs and you search downstairs?" She asks.

He nods and then they both immediately get to work ripping through room after room. An hour of searching passes too quickly but between the two of them they've located what they think are all the Christmas presents. However, they've found no decorations. Not even a single scrap of wrapping paper. _Nothing_.

It's then that Wyatt spots a door in the kitchen that he's somehow never noticed before. It has a deadbolt, but it locks from the other side. He flips through every key on his key ring until finally it budges. The door opens to reveal a basement. They have a basement? They spend another hour searching the basement before they find an unbelievable amount of boxes labeled "Christmas". It seems excessive given how sparse their holidays have been for the last five years. They also answer Lucy's question from the night before and find the Washer and Dryer tucked in the far corner with a ridiculous array of cleaning products.

They leave most of the outdoor decorations but bring up everything else, including the wrapping supplies. The girls' presents and the wrapping paper get stashed in the walk in closet in the master bedroom, and everything else gets stacked up in the living room until the girls are home the next day.

It's three hours later and they're just now collapsing on the sofa for the first time since walking through the door.

"We thought fighting Rittenhouse was exhausting," Lucy says with a smirk. "But treading water in this timeline is _worse_. We still don't know if there are traditions they'll be expecting. Christmas is a big deal." Her smirk falters as she continues. "Or it used to be anyway."

"Alright," Wyatt declares as he stands and then heads over to the bookshelf where he found the photo boxes. "Let's find out."

He grabs the boxes for 2022, 2021, and 2020 and then rejoins her on the couch. They look through the photos in silence but Wyatt can sense Lucy becoming agitated over something. He can't tell what exactly, but with every picture a wall between them grows. Where these pictures had brought him a kind of wishful longing the other night, they seem to be doing the opposite for her.

"Okay," he says when she, yet again, scoots further away from him on the couch. "What's wrong?"

His tone is annoyed and he knows he should try to moderate his mood, but she's inadvertently reminding him of how little they talk and he can feel the guilt crawling all over him. Her hesitance feels like his fault. He may lash out at Lucy but he's really angry at himself. He just doesn't know how to express that to her.

"It's just...we got all of this and we couldn't save Amy or Flynn or _at least_ his family? I don't know, I guess...I'm just feeling _guilty._ Guilty that we're here and they're not," she admits as she bites her bottom lip.

He knows it shouldn't but the mention of Flynn irks him. She mentioned Amy too but his brain is choosing not to hear it. The familiar burning friction of a flint sparking a flame hits his chest and words escape him like smoke. He couldn't catch them if he tried.

"Right, cause seeing how happy we are without Flynn must be impossible for you."

She tenses and then turns a glare on him. "More like seeing how happy we are _because_ of Flynn seems unfair to _him_. God, you know I can't believe we're sitting here in a timeline where he's _dead_ and you're—"

"What? Still alive? Would you rather him be sitting here than me?" He asks angrily before she can finish her statement.

It's how she _should_ feel. He knows she felt something for Flynn. He knows he fucked up and Flynn stepped in where he failed, both with Lucy and with Jessica. Flynn was a hero, Wyatt is a coward. On some level, he agrees. Flynn deserves to be there more than him. He deserves his family, the house, the happy memories. Wyatt doesn't. His tone was biting so he expects Lucy to take offense, even if it's all true. She was already pissed so he's sure when he manages to find her eyes he'll see a furious fire burning.

If possible though, Lucy looks angrier than he ever expected and he expected _a lot_.

"What? _No!_ Fuck you, Wyatt. What kind of horrible person do you think I am?" She asks as her voice raises. She looks _livid._ "I was going to say that I can't believe he's dead and you still have a problem with him. But now I get it. It's not _him_ you have a problem with. It's me. Isn't it?"

He doesn't. Not really. He has a problem with himself for letting her get away to begin with. He hates that Flynn was smarter than he was and managed to keep Lucy close even after they hit self destruct on their relationship. He hates that he _can't hate_ Flynn. Because Flynn kept Lucy sane in her darkest hours, Flynn restored their timeline, _Flynn_ gave Wyatt the opening to even have this house and the twins and even _Lucy_. He owes everything to Flynn and that guilt weighs heavily on his shoulders. But instead of admitting that to anyone, he lets it fester and then explodes at Lucy. It isn't right. He knows it isn't right. But he can't seem to stop doing it.

"I don't have a problem with you, Lucy. I don't have anything with you," he tells her with a frustrated huff and a flippant eye roll.

"And that's my fault?" She asks as she stands from the couch with her hands on her hips and a heated stare pointed down at him. "It's my fault that you chose to focus on saving Jessica _after_ you told me you loved me? What did you expect me to do, Wyatt? Did you expect me to wait around for you on the off chance you decided you actually did want me after all?"

Her reply feels like a list of his mistakes — of all the ways he took her for granted. With the regret he feels comes the resentment. The resentment that she didn't fight him on it. She didn't tell him what she really wanted. He didn't expect her to wait or even say _the words_ to him but he expected _something._ He thought he'd get some sort of reaction — _any_ reaction—but he never did. Instead she ran to Flynn.

He scoffs and shakes his head, finally standing with her. "No, but I maybe expected you to wait a little longer than a week. Don't worry though, I got your message loud and clear even way back then. Seeing you with Flynn was much more effective than never hearing those words repeated back to me."

"Is that what this all boils down to? How was I supposed to admit that to you when just hours earlier you were adamant that your wife, who you loved for longer than I knew you, could be saved? You thought she was pregnant with your child, Wyatt. Did you really expect me to dive right in to something with you after that? You told me I didn't have to say it back. Forgive me for assuming you mean what to you say!" She scowls at him as she yells and shakes her head angrily. "You broke my heart! I had to watch you play happy husband with her up close and personal because you brought her into our goddamn home! How was I supposed to trust your love would be enough? God, what if Jessica had come back? What if she decided she made a mistake and had come back to you? Can you honestly tell me that loving me would have been enough back then? That you wouldn't have broken my heart a _second_ time?"

He tries to breathe through those questions because he despises all of them. Not just how difficult they are to answer but what it means for how she sees her importance in his life. It's clear she thinks she's second best and always will be. The thing is, she never gave him a moment to assure her otherwise. Yes, he could have yelled over her insistence that he was happy and made her see that he _wasn't_ , but at the time he wasn't sure their potential meant as much to her as it did to him. Could he fight for her if she didn't want him to? Was 1941 not as poignant to her as it was to him? She had insecurities back then and so did he. Should he have pushed through them and been honest with himself about what he wanted? No doubt. Should he have pursued his happiness instead of what he thought was the _right_ thing? Absolutely.

But if he had, would she have listened? Would she have believed him? Given the way she so readily shut him down back then, the odds aren't in her favor.

"So, we're breaking out the hypotheticals now?" He asks with a glare and a yell of his own. "Because I have a few of those I'd like to ask about myself."

They are standing much closer than he initially realizes so when she releases a chagrined huff he feels her hot breath prickle across his chin and neck and, as if he's been struck by lightning, he wants her. _Craves_ her like a shot of hard liquor. Much like his predisposed genetic habit to retreat into a bottle, he knows it's ill advised but right then she feels like the only thing that will dull the rage.

It's not the first time this has happened. Not the first time an argument has brought him _here,_ ready to toss back a glass and gulp her down. Her eyes darken and he can tell she's been struck by the very same lightning as him. He's not stupid. He knows why this happens. They argue when the emotions are too complicated to talk about and they want each other like this when the argument doesn't give them the release they need. Or sometimes when the grief and loss are too big to handle alone. It's never tender. They never talk after. They walk away as soon as it's over.

They don't nurse the bottle. They don't take their time.

It's not 1941. It will likely never be 1941 ever again.

Her hands dart up and yank him down for a bruising kiss. Harsh and forceful. His hands grip her waist so tight that he's afraid he might leave permanent indentations behind. She makes quick work of his belt after taking a moment to trail her touch over his chest. The belt is ripped from the loops of his pants and tossed onto the floor. He moves his hands from her waist to unbutton her jeans. The drag of her zipper sounds between them and it's as deafening as a scream. He hears the repetitive pops of his button fly and then feels her pushing the waist down. She holds tight to his belt loops and pulls him backward to the nearest wall. Her hand delves into his boxers to grip him and he knows there's no stopping this now. Even if he wanted to. _Fuck._

A low growl is released from his throat as he spins her around to face the wall. _His turn._ He slides his hands over her waist, across her stomach, under the top hem of her cotton underwear, and down to the slick nerve center between her legs. She gasps and then braces herself against the wall with her flat palms. They shouldn't be doing this and they both know it. But they don't want to talk and they don't want to fight. This is the only option they have left. It's not romance. It's _need_. Raw and hungry.

He wants her and he wants her _now_. He shoves her underwear aside and pushes into her, hard. She lets out a deep moan and he sees her hands fist against the wall. He thrusts aggressively, repeatedly, until they're both breathing though grunts and wanton pants. This isn't sex. This is a _fuck._ There's no emotion behind it. Just mutual give and take. There's no loving eye contact or slow kisses.

 _Shit_ , he can't even see her face.

It's better that way.

They broke each other once. This way they make sure they can't do that again.

Lucy cries out as she comes and then sags against the wall. He joins her a split second later, chest heaving and his heart pounding as she continues to spasm around him. He severs their connection and is preparing to leave her as he normally would, but a creamy patch of ivory skin catches his attention and holds him in place.

He can't explain what he does next, except to say that the image of Lucy at breakfast that morning randomly resurfaces. Sleepy face, chin resting on top of their daughter's head, floral robe hanging off of one shoulder. It's that image that has his lips seeking out the curve between her neck and her shoulder, where her shirt collar has been pulled away, for a gentle lingering kiss. Lucy sucks in a breath and goes rigid against him, but relaxes once again when his lips move up her neck to just below where her chopped off hair stops. That kiss is open mouthed and near reverent. He doesn't know what's come over him but he can't seem to shake it.

He hears her sigh in satisfaction as she turns in his arms. Her half lidded gaze meets his and then as if enchanted by the moment their lips are drawn together. Her arms wrap around his middle and gather him closer. This kiss is not like the one they shared earlier. It's soft and warm. It's full of care, concern, and, for his part, remorse.

The unbearable taste of their emotions seems to trigger something in Lucy. She makes a startled muffled sound into his mouth and then rears back quickly. So quickly that even his reflexes nearly aren't fast enough to keep her from slamming her head into the wall. His hand cushions the blow a split second before it happens.

She untangles herself and ducks out of his arms with wide frightened eyes, like a deer caught in the headlights. A hand presses against her lips for a moment before she finally breaks the stark silence that overtakes them.

"I—I'm gonna go, uh, shower," she stutters out as she nearly trips backwards up the stairs in her desperate dash to get away from him.

He stands there, too shocked to move, until the sound of the bedroom door slamming filters down the steps.

"What the _fuck_ was _that_?" He asks the empty room.

He expects no answer, not even from himself.

* * *

They retreat to separate corners of the house. Lucy doesn't know what to say or how to act. Were they still in the bunker she could hide in the war and bloodshed and comfort herself by saying the fate of the world was far more important than whatever she felt for Wyatt. But they're not in the bunker any longer and aside from the girls there is nothing more important than her relationship with Wyatt. Whether they're friends or enemies, their relationship effects more than just the two of them now. It involves two precious little girls that she adores with every fiber of her being.

She and Wyatt cannot go on as they always have. Not if they want to raise happy well adjusted daughters, at least.

She finds a stash of bath products under the sinks in the master bathroom and readily takes advantage. She slips into a hot bath and groans in pleasure. She hasn't had a _bath_ in ages. She's got more scars than the last time she took a bath. It's hard not to notice. There's the faint scar from the knife wound in Salem. The round raised scar from a bullet to the shoulder, a reminder of Jessica even in a reset timeline. It was her gun that put the bullet in Lucy's shoulder, after all. The scar on her knee from Emma's attempt to push her off of a literal cliff. She'd won a large gash on her knee as she fell. Luckily the cliff wasn't as steep as Emma thought and Lucy had been stopped by a small ledge.

There were smaller scars from various fights, most she hardly remembers now, and then there were the emotional scars. The ones that weren't so easy to spot. The ones from battles no one ever seemed to win. From her mother's betrayal. From Wyatt breaking her heart. From Rufus dying. From Emma killing her mother. Those were all emotional scars that she shared with the Lucy who inhabited this timeline before her. That Lucy was fortunate to never gain the rest of her scars.

Wyatt's face the first time he realized she was seeing Flynn, Jiya's distance as she retreated into her quiet desperation, coming home from a jump to find Mason and Christopher slaughtered at the hands of Jessica Logan and Emma Whitmore, watching Wyatt spiral into his anger and self hatred after learning Jessica lied about the baby, realizing all she'd done by jumping into bed with Flynn was hurt all three of them all over again…

All moments that are erased from time but not erased from her heart. She'd give anything to have stayed behind on that last jump. Her memories and her heart could have been reset with it and instead of pretending to be a Lucy who is content with her life she would _actually be_ a Lucy who is content with her life.

As it is, she's little more than a mess of marred skin and broken aspirations.

What had Wyatt been thinking? Everything else about that...escapade was familiar. It was their current status quo. When they wanted to get lost they let themselves get lost in _each other_. It seemed a healthier habit than letting herself fall into a bottle of vodka. They kept it simple. Sex and nothing else. A good fuck to work out the stress, anger and grief and then they went on with their lives.

But the ending…

He should have just let her go. Why couldn't he let her go?

Now she has the memory of his soft lips on her neck, kissing her as if she were delicate and rare. And then there's the matter of the kiss to her lips. It felt almost _apologetic_ , but they don't do that. They don't _talk_ let alone apologize. The past is ignored unless it's used as a pointed barb to win a fight. But there is no mistaking the regret she felt in that kiss. Or the overwhelmingly caring warmth. The need to protect her. To keep her safe.

The feelings nearly bring tears to her eyes because it takes her back to a time before they lost each other. To a time when he held her close in an artillery tent in 1918 or kept her claustrophobia at bay in the smugglers hold of Wendell's Scots trunk or even as far back as a desperate hug in the middle of a Murder Castle. It reminded her of a Wyatt whose arms were her refuge, who held her while she sobbed, and kissed her with everything he had in the golden light of a fireplace.

Despite knowing better, it threatens to rekindle her hope. Her hope that the Wyatt who was her safe space isn't gone forever.

She _cannot_ let that happen. She will not weaken. Adjusting to life without him once was hard enough. She won't make it though if she has to do it again.

She steps out of the bath once she's wrinkled and pruny and changes into the softest sweater she's worn in far too long and a pair of sweats that are cozier than the blankets she's slept under for the last five years. It's heavenly and, for a moment, distracting from the man she knows is wandering around downstairs like a ghost in an unfamiliar haunting. She lays down on the king sized bed that she's slept in all alone for the last two nights and picks up her phone.

It's full of photos she didn't take and contacts she barely knows. She opens her photo album and flips through, beginning with a few days ago. She recognizes Stanford's campus as the setting, but the photo has nothing to do with Stanford. There is a picture, taken very quickly, of Wyatt playing with the girls. They are climbing all over him while he kneels on the ground, appearing to have been bested by two tiny four year olds. She keeps going. She finds photos of the girls at Rufus's birthday party, where they had given him four motion activated lightsabers.

Then she finds photos and videos of a lengthy battle between Rufus, Jiya, Amy, and Flynn. Wyatt is always hovering nearby in case it gets out of hand. Which of course it does. Flynn accidentally hits Amy in the eye with a wild swing. Wyatt is there, quick as a blink. Just as the video cuts off, he scoops Amy up and sits her in his lap to inspect her eye. His gentle voice and equally gentle hands soothe her tears.

She knows the Wyatt in that video isn't her Wyatt, but her Wyatt has the capacity to be that man. Every interaction he's had with Flynn and Amy has been heartwarming beyond any of her wildest expectations. Whatever he feels about Lucy is a mystery but she knows he loves the twins. She sees it every time he looks at them.

It brings her back to their kiss. The gentle touches from the other Wyatt were so similar to the way her Wyatt kissed her. He isn't as ornery as he wants her to believe. A part of her always knew that, but she refused to acknowledge it for the safety of her heart.

Now she has no choice. She's been confronted with his tenderness and there's no way to forget it. Even if she wishes she could. She takes a deep breath and puts the phone in her pocket. It's not even lunchtime yet. She cannot hide in her room for the rest of the day. Besides, they still need to learn this house and their Christmas traditions. She needs to start actively living this life she's been dropped into.

And that starts with facing Wyatt.

She walks out of the bedroom and down the stairs. She finds him wearing a path behind the couch. He doesn't hear her socked feet coming amidst his distracted worry. He has showered and changed, probably in the kids' bathroom. He shares her need for comfort and is dressed to match her in sweats and a sweater. They aren't a couple and yet against the odds they still resemble one. She clears her throat and he swivels to face her.

"Lucy, about earlier—"

She holds up a hand to stop him and then waves him off. "Let's not, okay? We've never talked about it before. I don't want to start now. It happened and it's over. Let's just...move on."

Judging by the firm line of his mouth, he doesn't seem happy about that, but he nods anyway. "If that's what you want."

"That's what I want," she insists.

She knows he's not okay with that. She can see the eagerness in his eyes, but he mercifully drops the subject and she wonders why. Is he trying to avoid another fight? Or is he using her answers as an excuse for avoidance?

"I, um, I found the Christmas photos and pulled them out," he tells her quietly. "Thought we could look over them together."

She nods and then crosses the room. She takes her former spot on the couch and picks up a pile of photos, as if nothing out of the ordinary has occurred between them. She can do this. She can ignore the kiss. She can ignore his obvious wish to talk about it. She can ignore it like it never happened.

She can pretend. _She can pretend._


	3. If It Hurts

**A/N:** Part three is here! This part will cover Christmas through NYE and continue to live up to the M rating so if you're averse to smut there's a portion toward the end you may want to skim through. Thank you so much to all of you who have been reviewing! I know the rating makes this one hard to locate so I appreciate every bit of feedback I get! Don't be shy! I love getting reviews and having a chance to reply to you guys! Thank you again! Happy reading!

angellwings

* * *

PART THREE: If It Hurts

* * *

" _I wish you were a bad man.  
I wish you made it easier.  
I wish you'd done something unforgivable,  
'Cause holding onto you is all that I can do until,  
I learn the hands around my throat are my own.  
Don't let me know if it hurts,  
If it hurts you.  
I don't want to be your friend that you turn to,  
That you won't pull me close,  
But you can't let me go."_

 _-"Don't Let Me Know", SMASH_

* * *

By the next morning, they've explored the house, looked through all the photos, found the home movies, located their wedding rings that were tucked away in Lucy's jewelry box, and studied up on this life they've adopted as their own. After the argument and the _incident_ , their focus was renewed. Or Lucy's was. She would do anything to avoid talking to him it seemed. Not that he was surprised. She shut him out years ago. If she ever opens up to him again, it will take time. Lots of time.

He was stupid to let himself kiss her like that. Not that he was in his right mind at the time. Some part of him who remembered Lucy as she was before he shattered her had taken over in that moment. The Wyatt of 1941 who remembered her hesitance and her nerves and how huge that step had been for them. The Wyatt who imagined their future was a wide open road of possibilities.

The idealistic hopeful Wyatt who thought maybe his life was finally coming together after years of misery and guilt...only to be shown how incorrect he really was by one goddamn text.

Yesterday happened because a long buried part of him wants to be that version of himself again. But he can't. She doesn't want him - the version he offers her won't matter. However, he can't let the fight that came before the _incident_ stand. There were very serious fears and feelings brought up in that fight. He said some things he regretted and accused her of things she didn't deserve. At the very least they need to talk about _that_.

So, as they're silently eating breakfast the next morning he decides to try and bring it up. It's a risk that could prove fatal, but he has to take it.

"Lucy," he says as he folds his paper and puts it away. He looks over to find her scrolling through photos on her phone. Something she's been doing since she came back out after their fight the night before. "We should talk about yesterday." Her finger freezes over her phone screen and he knows what she thinks he means so he continues hurriedly. "About our _fight_ yesterday."

"You mean the fight where you accused me of wishing you were dead?" She asks him with a quirked brow and pursed lips.

He sighs with an apologetic glance and nods. "I—I'm sorry. That was unfair and unkind."

Both eyebrows fly upward in a shocked expression. "You're what? Did you just...are you apologizing to me?"

"Yes," he says with a nod. "I want to make sure that you and I are on good terms, Lucy. We have two little people to take care of and I don't want them affected by what is or isn't happening between us. I know what it's like to have parents that don't get along and I don't want that for the girls _or_ for us."

She puts her phone in her back pocket and watches him carefully for a long moment before her guard finally falls and he sees a rare glimpse of vulnerability across her face.

"I'm sorry too," she tells him honestly. "I should never have thrown Jessica in your face like that. That was cruel of me."

He shrugs with a self deprecating smile. "I started it by talking about Flynn the way I did." He meets her eyes with a somber expression. "I shouldn't have done that. No matter how I felt about him, I know he was your friend. I'm sorry that you lost him. I'm sorry about Amy too. You deserve to have her back."

"Thank you," she replies quietly.

"I know I'm not generally the person you want to talk to about those things anymore, but if you ever need to talk I'm here," he promises.

"Even about Flynn?" She asks warily.

He nods, though internally he questions that decision. He's not entirely sure he could handle a whole conversation about Flynn, but he will try it if she needs him to. "Even about Flynn."

"I appreciate that," she answers. But he can tell she doesn't believe him.

* * *

"What took you guys so long? Don't you know it's Christmas Eve?" Amy asks loudly as soon as Denise opens her front door.

Lucy and Wyatt exchange amused glances at the scolding stare she gives them. Lucy recognizes it as a trait of her own and chuckles. If she needs proof that these girls are hers then that's it.

"Yeah! The tree's not even up! We gotta scoot!" Flynn yells in agreement as she scrambles to put on her jacket. She misses the sleeve several times before Denise finally chuckles and holds it up for her.

"Need some help there, squirt?" Denise asks jovially.

Wyatt grabs Amy's jacket off the hook by the door and holds it out for her. As he turns a questioning look on Flynn. He doesn't ask a question but Lucy sees it in his eyes. Michelle comes to the door with the girls' backpacks and the two totes Lucy packed the day before. They put the backpacks on the girls and each take a tote in one hand and a twin in the other.

"Thank you for this, Denise," Lucy says as she leans in and hugs her as best she can given her full arms.

"Anytime, these two are a joy to have around," Denise assures her. "We had a blast. Oh, and Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," Wyatt replies eagerly. The last time he said that was in a far less cheerful situation. He sounds to her as if he's been dying to say it again under better circumstances.

They get the girls strapped in to their seats and then pull out of Denise's driveway. The girls chatter a mile a minute the entire ride home. Wyatt's eyes meet Flynn's in the rear view mirror and he must finally decide to give a voice to the question she saw in his gaze earlier.

"Where did you learn 'scoot'?" He asks her.

She gives him the most adorable bewildered look and an over exaggerated shrug. "From you, daddy. You said Grandpa Sherwin used to say it, member?"

He grins adoringly at her and nods with a misty eyed look of recognition. "I remember. I just didn't know you did."

"You always say it when we're running late," Amy adds. "Which is a lot." Amy leans forward in her seat as if she's trying to tell him a secret and then talks in a hoarse tone of voice that's meant to imitate a whisper. "Mommy spills things and has to change."

Wyatt laugh softly and nods. "Why am I not surprised?"

She slaps his arm weakly but laughs right along with him. How is possible to cherish these girls as much as she does? She barely knows them, but she knows every part of her claims them. Everything else about this situation may be up in the air but they are a constant delight.

As soon as they make it through the door, the girls run straight for the Christmas decorations.

"Come on!"

"Hurry, hurry, hurry!"

There is no more time for her to think about their fight or the conflicting emotions Wyatt caused in her the night before. From then on it is all about the girls. They put up the artificial tree, cover it in homemade decorations and a small collection of ones to commemorate the girls' milestones and favorite things. They set up the small Christmas village on a table near the front window. She watches with the girls as Wyatt sticks the lighted reindeer, Santa, and a Merry Christmas sign in the front yard.

They bake Christmas cookies for Santa and drink hot cocoa while they watch Rudolph, Frosty, and Charlie Brown. They hit all the highlights. It's a Christmas like the ones Lucy had before her mother got sick in their original timeline. Joyous and full of fun. Finally, the girls fall asleep on the couch in new pairs of Christmas pajamas Lucy found amongst their Christmas Presents. Wyatt lifts Flynn from the couch and Lucy picks up Amy. She cradles Amy against her chest and walks toward the stairs with Wyatt close behind. As she lays Amy down in her bed she wakes briefly.

"Don't forget to set the coffee for you and daddy tomorrow," she says sleepily. "You said you would set the timer this year so we don't have to wait for it to open presents. I wanna go straight downstairs after we wake you up in the morning. Okay?"

Lucy grins and chuckles at her as she kisses her forehead and tucks her in. "Okay."

"And can we not sing the song tonight, mommy?" Amy asks. "I need to sleep so Santa will come."

"Sure, baby," Lucy agrees quietly. "Whatever you want."

Amy nods and hugs her with a loud smacking kiss to her lips. "G'night, mommy."

"G'night, sweetheart."

She and Wyatt switch. Flynn is out cold so Lucy brushes her hair away from her face and kisses her forehead. Wyatt shuts the door behind them, leaving it cracked the way the girls like. They pass the guest room on their way to the master bedroom closet for the presents and that's when Lucy actually thinks through Amy's words.

" _...after we wake you up in the morning."_

Childhood Christmases return to her in quick succession. She and _her_ Amy waking Carol and Henry each year. Barging into their bedroom and climbing into bed with them until they begrudgingly trudged downstairs for coffee and presents.

 _Shit._

Her hand grabs Wyatt's arm as he's loading presents into them and he gives her an expectant look.

"You can't sleep in the guest room tonight," she says with frantic eyes and a shake of her head.

The reason why seems to occur to him without her uttering a word. She sees understanding dawn on his face as he nods dutifully. "Right. Good call."

But is it really a good call? It doesn't _feel_ like a good call. It feels like a mistake.

They wrap the girls' gifts in silence. They're still feeling awkwardness from the day before and added awkwardness from the night to come. They haven't slept side by side since 1941 and given the last time they were alone there were several ways that everything could go very wrong.

The gifts are put out under the tree, Santa's cookies are eaten, and the reindeer have snacked on the carrot sticks the girls insisted on leaving for them. With everything done and an early morning ahead for them, they reluctantly head to bed. They wordlessly get ready at their his and hers sink, sneaking glances at each other in their peripherals. Lucy changes into her own pair of Christmas Pajamas and leaves a t-shirt and pants that match her and the girls out for Wyatt should he want them. The other versions of themselves wore new matching pajamas every Christmas morning. The girls will expect it tomorrow but that doesn't mean he has to wear them tonight.

Before he comes out of the bathroom, she slips under the covers and turns on her side to face her nightstand. They can do this and it will be fine. They are grown adults who can share a bed without losing total control of themselves. Besides, the bed is huge. If she sticks to her side then it's likely she'll never know he's there.

Or that's what she tells herself.

Waking up in the morning proves to be a totally different story.

She's not sure how it happened because when she fell asleep she was firmly planted on her side of the bed, but she wakes up with her arms around Wyatt Logan and her head resting on his chest. Her legs are tangled with his and his cheek is resting on the top of her head. She feels one arm wrapped around her while the other rests on top of her arms that encircle his middle.

The sun is just barely peeking through their windows and she hears no sounds of little feet. The girls are still asleep.

She decides to risk looking up at Wyatt. She hasn't been this close for this long in several years. His eyes are closed and she can feel his chest rising and falling steadily. There's a slanted bit of hair across his eyes and his forehead that moves every time he puffs out a breath and it causes a fond smile to spread over her lips. She tugs one of her hands free from his and then reaches up to brush the hair off of his forehead. He looks so quiet and peaceful. She wonders if he normally looks like this when he sleeps or if, like her, he's sometimes plagued by horrible restless dreams. She hopes he isn't. Despite everything that's happened between them she hopes his sleep is more restful than her own.

She bites her bottom lip and then takes a moment to cup the side of his face. She simply wants to feel his stubble under the pads of her fingers again. He's had that beard for a little while now and she missed seeing his face. The beard obstructed the view and knowing him she realizes that was probably on purpose, but whether it was to hide his face from himself or from her she isn't sure.

Blue eyes flutter open as she jerks her hand away from his cheek, but damn him and his reflexes he catches it. Those eyes meet hers and pin her down with sleepy affection. His hand squeezes her hip, just a light pressure, but it pulls her face closer to his. He searches her eyes with a questioning glance before his line of sight drifts down to her lips. She swallows thickly as she realizes exactly what he's thinking about doing. She should move. She should get out of bed and away from him, but she _can't._ She doesn't want to.

The parts of her that are treacherous and disloyal are eager for another agonizingly sweet kiss and won't let her move. He closes the distance between them, his lips ghost over hers. Longing floods her senses, and just as she's about to reach up and pull him the rest of the way down…

Their bedroom door is shoved open. It's shoved open with so much force that the door knob nearly leaves a dent in the wall as it smacks against it.

The noise breaks the spell he has over her and she swiftly pulls away. She sits up to see Amy, with Flynn just over her shoulder, standing in the open doorway.

"It's Christmas!" She shouts at the top of lungs. "Get up, sleepyheads! It's agically Christmas! I've been waiting _all year_ for it!"

They pull them out of bed and down the stairs. Lucy did set the timer on the coffee the night before as Amy asked. The girls sit on the floor by the tree, physically buzzing with impatience, while she and Wyatt make cups of coffee. The minute their butts hit the couch the girls start distributing presents.

Lucy didn't do the shopping so she feels less like a participant and more like an observer but it doesn't matter because the girls are _overjoyed_ by even the smallest present. It's rewarding enough just to watch them. Neither she nor Wyatt have any family for the girls to visit so there is nowhere to rush off to after their the gifts are open. It might have been sad were it not for the twins, but this family is all the family Lucy really needs.

There's no time that day to talk about their almost kiss and she's immensely grateful for it. She's also grateful that once the girls are put to bed that night, much later than normal because it's Christmas, Wyatt goes back to the guest bedroom without complaint. That means that for the time being, Lucy doesn't have to worry about waking up in his arms again.

Everything about waking up that morning was so cozy that it felt like a dream. She almost felt like her old self again. It left her weakened and open to that near kiss. It would have been a wonderful kiss but it would have been a mistake. She and Wyatt are too messy. The only way to stop their cycle of hurting each other is just to _stop_. That's exactly what she's trying to do and mornings like the one she had this morning will not help her resolve.

They both throw themselves into being parents and learning all they can about the girls. Every day is filled with games, some of their own creation. They have a game they play with Wyatt called "Boot Camp" which they discover is just Wyatt putting them through kid friendly versions of drills and then letting them tackle him to the ground. It's ridiculously adorable and, for the first time, Lucy adds pictures to the camera roll on her phone. She knows she shouldn't because seeing Wyatt with their girls will always weaken her resolve to stay away from him but the images would have replayed in her memory anyway.

The longer they share this house and the girls, the more she wants this life to be real. The more time they spend, just them and the girls, the more they both soften. The more their scars heal. The more _dangerous_ being around him becomes. She tries to stay focused on the twins and keep her feelings for Wyatt in a separate box. Usually, it works.

It's the end of the day, a few days later, when the four of them are huddled on the couch sharing blankets and popcorn as they watch the latest animated hit when something happens that will upset Lucy's delicate system of compartmentalization.

"We found daddy's stuff in the guest room today," Flynn announces as she looks between Lucy and Wyatt. "Is daddy sleeping in the guest room?"

Both she and Wyatt visibly wince. Oh no. _No._

"Just for a little while," Wyatt answers.

"Why?" Flynn asks. Her little lip pokes out in a pout that threatens to break Lucy's heart. "Did you have a fight?"

"No, babygirl," Wyatt answers as he pulls her into his side and kisses the top of her head. "We didn't have a fight."

"But you share the big room," Amy says with a furrowed brow. "The guest room is for people we don't know. And we know daddy. He should be in the big room with you, mommy."

She has to think of something. Some reason that won't upset them. "The—the other bed is...better for daddy's back. That's all."

Wyatt's eyes narrow at her thoughtfully. She knows he doesn't have any back problems but he nods and plays along anyway. "Yes. It's a more comfortable bed for my back."

"Then why don't you move that bed into your room?" Amy asks as she grabs the last handful of popcorn.

"Yeah! Or maybe mommy should move into the guest room with you!" Flynn says as she turns to Wyatt with bright eager eyes. "That way you're still together!"

They both look panicked. They have no response prepared because they didn't see this coming. Wyatt got up before the girls every morning to keep them from finding out and they keep the guest bedroom door closed at all times. They never talked about what they would do if the girls found out.

Lucy grabs the empty popcorn bowl from between Amy and Flynn and stands from the couch. She nods pointedly toward the kitchen.

"We need more popcorn. Why don't you come and help me out, _darling_."

"Of course. Right away, _honey."_

"That's code," Amy whispers to Flynn. "They're gonna talk about us."

Lucy closes her eyes and bites back a laugh. When she meets Wyatt's eyes she finds a similar look on his face. The panic is still there, but there's also humor to be found. Their girls are much too smart. They were naive to think they could fool them for long.

Upon reaching the kitchen, Lucy puts another bag of popcorn in the microwave and then turns to Wyatt.

"What do we do?" She asks.

"Well, I don't think we have very many options," he says as he runs a hand over his face and scratches at a beard that isn't there anymore. "Either you move into the guestroom, I move into the master bedroom, or we tell them the truth."

"We're not telling them the truth," Lucy replies immediately. "You saw Flynn's face before. I don't want to see that again." She absently places a hand over her aching heart as the visual of Flynn's quivering lip returns.

"God, that bottom lip," Wyatt agrees as he takes a deep breath. "That nearly killed me."

Lucy sighs in resignation. She knows what has to happen. There's no way to avoid it. "You'll move into the master bedroom with me. I mean, if you want to."

"If it makes the girls feel better about it then I want to," he replies. "It's the best way to avoid questions. Besides, that's a big bed. We'll be fine."

He seems unsure as he turns and adds time to the popcorn, but whether he's sure or not doesn't matter. This is what has to happen.

So she nods and repeats his words to reassure herself. "We'll be fine."

She has to repeat those words to herself again later that night when a colleague from Stanford calls to ask what she's wearing to the faculty New Years party the following night.

She doesn't know this person but this person seems to know her as she asks, "You and Wyatt are coming, aren't you? People are wanting to make a big deal out of your new tenured status. You _have_ to come. And we all know Wyatt won't let us brag about you without him along."

Well, _fuck_.

"Yeah, we'll be there. I just haven't decided what I'm wearing yet."

 _Why_? Why did she say that?

She's near frantic as she tells Wyatt while they get ready for bed that night. He chuckles at her and kneels next to her as she sits on her side of the bed.

"Lucy, we have gone undercover in so many time periods and under much greater strain than this. A party with a bunch of professors will be cake," he tells her. "We've played the happy couple once before. We can do it again, and this time we won't run the risk of being gunned down by Bonnie and Clyde. We'll be fine."

"Is that our mantra now?" She asks him with a halfhearted grin. "We'll be fine?"

He smirks and shrugs. "Anything we deal with in this timeline is infinitely easier than Rittenhouse. So, yeah, that's our mantra. We'll be fine. We've been in tougher spots with much lower odds."

They share a knowing look and scoff as they speak up in perfect synchronization.

" _The Alamo."_

That causes a much needed laugh to bubble up in her chest. He's right. They've been through worse. How hard can it be to convince her coworkers they're an actual couple? They managed to convince Bonnie and Clyde once upon a time, didn't they? They could do this as long as they worked together.

* * *

They drop the girls off again, this time with Rufus and Jiya. The girls probably won't stay up till midnight but their friends are excited for the company anyway.

Flynn runs straight for Rufus as he opens the door.

"Uncle Rufus," Flynn cries. "Lightsaber fight! Please?"

"As long as you don't hit your sister this time," Rufus tells her with a stern glance and a quirked brow.

"I will be very careful. I promise," Flynn says with her hands folded under her chin. The picture of angelic intentions. "Please?"

"Fine," he agrees with light laugh. "Let me talk to your mom and dad first though. Okay, my young Padawan?"

"Okay, Master Jedi," Flynn says with a small bow before she scampers off to join Amy and Jiya in the living room.

"I cannot tell you how ecstatic I am that one of your little rugrats is a _Star Wars_ fan," Rufus tells them both with a huge smile. "It means I'm the _cool_ uncle. I've never been the _cool_ anything."

"Yeah, I wonder how that happened?" Wyatt asks him with a knowing smirk. "Cause neither Lucy or myself know a thing about it. So _who_ do you think showed it to her?"

Lucy hums thoughtfully and taps her chin with playful cluelessness. "Who could it be? Who do we know that likes _Star Wars_?"

He rolls his eyes at them and chuckles. "Okay, okay, so I planted the seed but she didn't have to like it. Amy didn't. Nope, Flynn took to it all on her own. I just made sure she was aware it existed. That's all."

"Right," Wyatt tells him with a chuckle. "We'll be back to pick them up in the morning. Is that okay?"

He nods. "Yeah, that's okay. We haven't gotten to spend some one on one time with them in a while so we're good. You guys just focus on having a good time. I know it'll be difficult with all those boring professor types around — No offense, Lucy."

She chuckles at him and then shrugs. "None taken. Most of the time I agree with you."

"You guys gonna be okay, though?" Rufus asks. "I mean it has to be hard pretending to be a couple all the time, right?"

Not as hard as it should be. "We'll be fine," he says as he tosses Lucy a secretive grin.

She rolls her eyes at him but grins too as she recognizes their new catchphrase. "Totally fine."

"Well, you guys seem to be getting along better," Rufus says in obvious relief. "I was worried you guys might actually kill each other, at first."

To his surprise Lucy speaks before he can. "I don't think either of us meant even half the hateful things we said to each other, Rufus." She flashes Wyatt a sheepish smile and lifts one shoulder. "Or at least I didn't."

He agrees. They've gotten along well since arriving in this timeline and he's started to think that their environment may have contributed more to their resentment than their _actual_ resentment.

"We were in a god awful situation," Wyatt says with a conflicted sigh. "We didn't know how to cope."

Hell, even in a good situation they didn't know how to cope. That's how they ended up sleeping together in their timeline _and_ in this one.

"I'm glad to see you guys figuring that out, then," Rufus says with an encouraging smile. "All of us just want the two of you to be happy."

Lucy scoffs at that and shakes her head. "Easier said than done, Rufus."

An awkward silence surrounds them at Lucy's pessimistic comment. Wyatt understands the sentiment. If not for the girls he feels like he would be miserable. There would be no reason to see Lucy. No excuse to stay together. They would have likely followed through with those threats of divorce and parted ways. He would have ended up spending all of his time alone and drunk just like he did in those early dark days after Jessica died.

Sometimes, it feels like he's meant to wallow in guilt forever. Because he still is, even now. Guilt over every decision he ever made after he received that text message from his not-so-dead wife. Guilt over choosing someone he knew he didn't love instead of Lucy. Guilt over allowing his stubborn pride to keep him from groveling for her forgiveness in the years since. Guilt over being too goddamn chicken to say all of that to her face right now.

Basically, just _guilt_.

Wyatt clears his throat and checks his watch. "We should go. We're already running late. Thanks, man. We'll be back here for the girls in the morning."

"See you then. Happy new year!"

"Happy new year," Wyatt replies. He gives Lucy a worried glance when she doesn't say it back and then shrugs apologetically at Rufus.

Something is going on with Lucy, all of a sudden. She's in her head. He wishes she would talk to him about it but she never does. Not anymore. He waves to Rufus and then turns to head toward the car. Lucy follows automatically with an unfocused gaze. The drive to the party is quiet and every time he glances over at her she's staring at her wedding ring and gnawing on her bottom lip. There are a few heavy thoughts reverberating through her head, he can tell.

When they park on campus and head to the history building and she still hasn't spoken, he finally has to ask.

"Are you okay over there, Lucy? You've been quiet since we dropped off the girls."

She looks up and gives him a forced smile. He knows she's lying through her teeth when she answers him. "I'm fine."

As they approach the door to the building he holds out his hand for hers.

"We should probably make it convincing, yeah?" He asks as he holds a nervous breath. He's not sure why he's nervous. He knows this is all just an act, but in this moment it doesn't _feel_ like an act. It feels like a first date. Like a long overdo completely awkward first date.

She takes his hand after a torturous moment of silence and laces their fingers together and then the minute they step through the door it's as if she's a completely different person. Her face lights up in a smile and she starts chatting with everyone who stops them. She knows their names and their faces and what they teach. He's not sure how.

Then again, at any given moment she knows several hundred things that he doesn't so that's not really a surprise.

She looks beautiful and he wants to tell her that. But he probably won't. She's wearing a simple black dress that stops just at her knees. It has a round neck and long sleeves. She paired it with a flowing open front sweater vest that's covered in a bold geometric pattern in various jewel tones. Her locket, that he thought was lost forever, hangs around her neck. That must be another pleasant side effect of this timeline shift. On her feet are a pair of heeled black ankle boots. Her short hair is styled softer. It falls in loose waves around her face. She looks relaxed. She looks confident. She's in her element and amongst her intellectual equals.

And yet he still sees a shadow in her expression. The same one that appeared on Rufus's doorstep and won't go away.

He's not sure if it's for the sake of the act or to assure himself she's okay, but he keeps one hand on her at all times. His hand is either on the small of her back, the back of her neck, or around her waist all night long.

It's ten minutes till midnight and he decides that now is the time to get the champagne for their toast. He squeezes her hip and drops a kiss to her temple as he leaves her and it's not until he's in line at the bar that he even realizes he did it. It is automatic and instinctive and somehow ingrained in his very being. Standing by her side all night and being her supportive husband comes entirely too naturally to him. The scariest part is that he _loves_ it. He loves listening to her talk about her work. He loves hearing people compliment her on her work. He loves how every person she speaks to walks away from her looking awed and impressed. He simply fucking loves being there to witness her greatness. He always has. That will never change no matter what they mean to each other or how they define their relationship.

Normally, they're on a mission and she's giving him a lecture on the run. He knows he respects the hell out of her skills but he has no frame of reference for how her peers see her. Tonight is giving him that context and it's abundantly clear to him that, despite her deflection when they first met some years ago, she actually _is_ world class.

He comes back with two glasses of champagne with five minutes to spare and finds her chatting amiably with a tall, salt and pepper haired man who is much too handsome for Wyatt's comfort. He looks like he is a few years old than he or Lucy and very distinguished.

She takes her glass from Wyatt and then motions to the newcomer on her other side.

"Wyatt, this is Dr. Emile Emory," she tells him with a wide laughing smile. "Dr. Emory, this is—" she pauses as she stumbles over how to introduce him. It's the first time she's had to and he can tell it makes her uncomfortable. "—my husband, Wyatt Logan."

"Nice to meet you," Wyatt says as he shakes Emile's hand.

"The pleasure is all mine. Your wife is charming. I audited her class for a week last semester and her point of view is revolutionary," Emile says as he releases Wyatt's hand. Does he have an accent? What is that? Is it French? "You are a very lucky man."

Wyatt gives him a small smile and nods. "Thank you, I know. She's brilliant. So are _our_ _daughters_. Fortunately, they take after their mother."

And what was _that_? What did he just do? Did he try to use Amy and Flynn to point out that Lucy is taken? Why? Is he feeling jealous of this professor that Lucy has just met? And also despite the fact that he and Lucy aren't actually _together_? Not that anyone here knows that. Lucy gives him an odd look but doesn't say anything. He wonders if he'll hear about it later.

A moment after that the countdown begins Dr. Emory excuses himself, leaving Lucy and Wyatt alone for the first time since they walked through the door.

"I'm sorry you had to come to this," Lucy says with a sigh as she meets his eyes. "I'm sure you were bored."

"Not at all," he answers with a reassuring grin. "I enjoyed watching you in your comfort zone tonight. Everyone here loves you. It's obvious. And I'm happy to stand back and watch them revere you like you deserve."

She laughs genuinely and blushes as she swings her head from side to side. "They don't _revere_ me and even if they did _I'm_ not the Lucy they know so it's different."

"Are you still the Lucy who saved history and the world on essentially a weekly basis?" He asks knowingly.

"Well, yes."

"Then it's _you_ and it's not that different."

Over her shoulder he sees someone waiver on their feet and the minute they stumble backwards he pulls Lucy out of the way. She collides against his chest with a soft grunt just as the drunk behind her falls to the floor. Their eyes connect and for a brief moment, everything stops. The room is crowded but he doesn't hear or see anyone else. Just her.

And then she looks away. The connection is gone, but not forgotten.

The man who fell is still sluggishly trying to stand when they come back to themselves. He inadvertently adds distracting levity to the moment.

Wyatt chuckles and quirks a brow at Lucy. "Ah, these wild college parties," he says dryly.

A merry smile forms on her face and the shadow that's been haunting her disappears as she laughs for a second time that night. "Really, some of these people are no better than the students. Before we met, my boss here used to throw parties at the end of each term for morale and I swear it was like attending the most obnoxious frat party you could ever imagine."

"Is that the guy that denied you tenure?" Wyatt asks with a slight glare.

"One and the same. Don't worry he got his. I found out he got fired a few years back for having an affair with a student," Lucy told him with a vengeful smirk. "I always knew he was a slimeball and he proved me right."

The countdown continues around them and Wyatt scratches the back of his neck bashfully. "You know people are going to expect us to—"

"Kiss at midnight. I know. Its fine," she tells him. Though, she looks nervous and not at all 'fine' like she claims.

"You sure?" He asks in concern.

She gives him a tired smile and nods. "Just kiss me, Logan."

His brows creep upward and he nods with an amused grin. "Yes, ma'am."

The countdown finishes and there's shouts of "Happy New Year!" As people around them begin to celebrate. Wyatt's arm goes around Lucy's waist and pulls her tighter against him as he presses his mouth to hers. Her hand that isn't holding champagne comes up to rest on the back of his neck and her fingers slip up into his hair. He's hesitant at first. He still isn't sure Lucy is really okay with a kiss but she defies his suspicions by being the one to nip at his bottom lip first. It's a request to open his mouth to hers and, given the nerves he thought he saw in her, it's not what he expects.

After their last kiss and the almost kiss on Christmas morning, he has no will power to refuse her. Those moments where they lean on each other to cope with ferocious emotions are unforgettable on their own but a tender moment with Lucy is heady. It leaves him yearning, longing to sip from her lips in a way he hasn't in far too long. This New Years kiss is the perfect example of a slow sip. It progresses lazily and deep with unnervingly soft persistence.

Nothing at all like their more recent gruff encounters that bruise and burn like a large swigging shot of whiskey.

No, this kiss takes him back to a guest house with a warm fire burning while Lucy's eyes drink him in with nervous hope. Only this time she doesn't taste like cognac as she did in 1941. This time she tastes like champagne. Bubbly and light and deceptively harmless.

When they pull apart they're both breathless, more from the emotions than the kiss. That's when Wyatt remembers the problem with a slow sip.

One sip is never enough.

* * *

Lucy's not sure why she's allowing this to happen, but no sooner had they walked through their front door then she's kissing Wyatt again. His hands were everywhere all night long. Her shoulder, her back, her waist. He's been pulling her in without even trying. All because he reminded her where they were just over a week ago and spun her off on a spiral of thoughts she couldn't seem to shake.

He'd called it a God awful situation and he was right.

They were trapped with no hope of escape and fighting a war they couldn't seem to end. They kept losing people and the idea that they would eventually lose each other felt inevitable. But now…

Now nothing is inevitable. The war is over. They can retire and live the life they _want_. Not the life that was _forced_ on them. Is this life the one she wants? Is it the one Wyatt wants? Are they letting themselves be trapped by marriage and children?

And then his line about not knowing how to cope. They run to each other to cope, even when they think they can't stand each other. What does that mean? Does it mean anything at all? Is it just convenient? Does he actually want her or is she just _there_? Does she want him?

She had all of these questions bouncing around inside of her head while she buzzed from person to person at that party. Wyatt followed close behind, always touching her somewhere. Always smiling at her like she was the most mesmerizing creature he'd ever seen. Always there to watch her back should she need it. Steady and constant like she always wanted him to be. Until he wasn't steady or constant. Until he left her behind. Since then she'd forgotten what it was like to have his unwavering support.

Until tonight.

Until the New Years Eve countdown is happening all around them and his lips find hers at the stroke of midnight. Every question she had fled from her mind. All she knew in the moment was the taste of him and the sweet softness that she'd been craving since their last tender slip up.

When they pulled apart the small touches hadn't stopped. Not even when they were alone. One of his hands rested on her knee for the entire drive home and she didn't stop it. She didn't push him away.

Now they're home and she knows she should end this here and now but she can't. She wants this. She wants him, if only for tonight. Layer after layer is shed as they walk and kiss through the house. They're moving at lightning speed now and there's no way she's making it to the bedroom. She's in her bra and underwear and he's in his boxers as he pushes him backward onto the couch. She shoves away her concerns and doubts while she sheds her last two pieces of clothing. She feels them creeping up on her as she straddles him but now is not the time.

She's a jumble of confusion and has no idea what she actually wants from her new freedom. She feels out of control and lost so she's choosing the one thing that's within her immediate reach.

She's choosing _him._ She's choosing to fulfill the longing he left in her from that last kiss. The one she's been trying to ignore but can't. The one she almost let herself have again on Christmas morning. She wants to feel that tenderness again so badly that it leaves a physical ache in her stomach. Maybe if she allows herself to indulge this need, it will go away. Maybe it will leave her alone.

There's only one way to find out.

Her lips cover his as she tugs his boxers down his hips. He grunts into her mouth as he pulls them the rest of the way off and kicks them aside. She feels him hot against her stomach as she bends at the waist and flattens her chest against his. Being pressed naked chest to naked chest is more sensual than she prepared herself for it to be. It sets off a chain reaction of goosebumps all over her body. She whimpers against him as his hands find her spine and trace over the curve of it. From the base of her neck to the top curve of her ass. His touches are delicate and _tender_ and spread warmth everywhere they go. It's not the hasty rough touches she's been accustomed to and her body reacts accordingly.

She's ready for him so fast that it's almost embarrassing. But god, she's through with foreplay. This whole damn night has felt like foreplay and she just wants _him._ Before she talks herself out of it, her hand slips between them and finds that he's just as ready as she is. She guides him to her entrance and then sinks down onto him.

" _Fuck,_ Lucy," he moans against her lips.

He's almost lost already and she hasn't even moved yet. Her muscles flutter around him when he shifts, just barely, to adjust his position between her knees and a low groan escapes her. _Shit,_ she's almost lost too. Maybe that's fine. Maybe faster is better. _Tender_ is deceptive. Tenderness makes her think they still stand a chance. It makes her think this game they're playing is _real_.

That thought has her raising herself from his chest and closing her eyes. This is easier when she can't see his face. It's better without finding that crackling connection of her brown eyes to his blue ones. She leans back and settles her hands on his thighs as she moves.

The slow and gentle portion of the evening is done. She thought she wanted it. She thought she could handle it. Now she knows she can't. Not without falling even deeper in love with him than she still is. So now when she moves it's hard and fast. Urgent and frantic. His hands grip her hips tightly and he does his best to slow her down but she won't be deterred. She's a runaway train and there's no brake strong enough to stop her now.

She bites her lip to keep from crying out his name as he hits his release first and jerks erratically underneath her. The motion causes a jolt of pleasure that immediately sends her over the edge too. She crashes down on top of him with panting breaths, her heart slamming against her ribs.

It takes all of a second for an overwhelming sense of dread to wash over her.

What the _fuck_ did she just do?

She shouldn't have let this happen. She should have walked away from him the minute the door closed behind them. Oh God. Oh _fuck._ What is wrong with her? This shouldn't be happening at all and now she's let it happen _twice_?

She crawls off of him without another word and starts gathering her clothes. She's waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for him to say something. It takes a moment longer than she expects. He waits until she has her dress in her hands but he doesn't disappoint.

"Lucy—"

"Do you want to take a shower first or should I?" She asks, cutting him off. She spins to face him, but refuses to meet his eyes.

"So, we're not going to talk about this either?" He asks with a frustrated huff.

"What's there to talk about?" She asks with a loud gulp.

"How about why you can't look at me? I think I'd like to talk about that, at least."

His voice is impossibly static. She can't read any emotion from it. It leaves her even less inclined to talk. She takes a deep breath and forces herself to look at him. She pins her gaze to his forehead.

"I can look at you," she says defiantly. "See? I'm looking at you right now."

He nods and she thinks she hears amusement in his tone as he responds. "You're looking at my forehead."

"What is there to say, Wyatt?" She asks with a sigh. "This isn't unusual for us," she insists even though she knows it is.

That was not their _usual_ tryst. It was halfway to honest and loving until she hard reversed and drove it toward the other extreme instead.

She feels his penetrating gaze on her as he follows up her statement with a wholly expected question.

"That was _usual_ for you?" He asks. "It didn't feel... _different_ at all?"

And here's the part where she lies, but she's doing it for their own good. Or that's how she's choosing to justify it, at least.

"No. Why? Did it feel different for you?" She asks as she feigns an attitude that verges on callous.

He sighs in resignation and shakes his head at her. There's a brief pause before he turns and starts to furiously gather up his clothes. "I guess not," he snaps. "My mistake."

The frustration in his tone hits her deep in her chest and causes her to fight off tears. It was different. She knows it was, but she can't admit it. It won't do them any good. If they were able to make it work between them, wouldn't they have done that already? The answers to her questions from earlier in the evening now seem clear. Convenience and shared pain have kept them together. That's all this is. If it were more than that then it wouldn't be this hard.

Would it?

She can't think of anything else to say to him so she slinks off to the master bath and jumps in the shower. She really picked a wonderful way to start 2024, didn't she? Her self destructive tendencies weren't left behind in the old timeline, unfortunately, and they seem to be in full force in the new year too. Tonight was so good until she went and ruined it. God, she hates so much about herself. She has self control. Somewhere within her is the ability to control her actions and force herself to behave. Why couldn't she seem to find that part of her in the presence of Wyatt Logan?

She changes into sweats and a sweater and curls up under the covers before Wyatt's even made it upstairs. He doesn't spare her a single glance as he walks past the bed toward the bathroom. It only adds to the guilt she feels. If she could avoid herself too she would. Hell, she wishes she didn't have to face her own reflection most days. The door slams and she winces. Yeah, he's pissed. She deserves it.

She pulls out her phone and begins to scroll through her emails as a distraction. She has emails from students already, asking for the syllabus, asking for clarification on the books they need for class, asking for extensions on an assignment she hasn't even given out yet. That's when she remembers…

She goes back to work in _two days_. The new term starts in _two days_. Wyatt goes back to work the on the second of the month. This life they've fallen into is moving forward and she's nowhere near prepared. She knows the other Lucy had lesson plans somewhere. She found them once while cleaning. She's fine with that. No, the main problem is the girls.

What do they do while she and Wyatt are at work? Is there someone that keeps them? Do they go to daycare? They're four. That's old enough for Pre-K, isn't it? Are they in school? She's up like a shot and searching every document on her desk, every payment in their bank account, every event on the shared calendar in the kitchen. How does she not know where her children are eight hours a day? Why hasn't she thought to figure this out sooner? Not only is she a horrible wife but she's also a horrible mother. Par for the course, she supposes.

By the time Wyatt finds her almost an hour later, the office is a mess and her nails have been chewed to pieces.

"What—what the hell happened in here?" He asks as he takes in the state of the office with wide eyes. "Did you lose something?"

"Yes, my fucking mind," she snaps with a huff.

His brow furrows and his eyes narrow. He waits for her to continue and when she doesn't he sighs and turns to leave. Clearly, she's worn out his patience for the night, and that's entirely fair.

"What do we do with the girls while we're at work?" She asks as he turns back around to look at her.

"Is that what you're trying to figure out?" He asks her as a grin pulls at his lips. "You tore apart your office trying to find out where the girls will go when we go back to work?"

"It's something we should know, don't you think?" She asks him in irritation. He flinches at her sharp words and the grin on his lips flattens into a hard line.

"Yes, it is. And you could have _talked_ to me about it," he says tersely. "But who am I kidding? You don't do that. Not with me."

"Wait, you _know_?" She asks in surprise as she ignores his jab. He wants to pick a fight and she won't do that. She has nothing to defend herself with anyway. She earned that jab.

"Don't look so shocked," he says with a scoff and a roll of his eyes. "Last time I went to the store I ran into their teacher. They're in her pre-K class. Managed to find out the name of the school and everything. They start back the same day you do. The third. Now, are you going to come to bed or are you avoiding me _there_ too?"

That gets her. The guilt surges forward and her shoulders sag. Water pools in her eyes and she shakes her head at him. "I'm sorry. You're right. I should talk to you. But it's just… **.** "

"Just _what_ , Lucy?" Wyatt asks impatiently as her sentence trails off. "You've been pushing me away and lying to me about how you feel for years now. Why? Why can't you just tell me what you—"

"Because it's too goddamn hard, Wyatt," she says loudly as she stands from her desk. She motions between them before she continues. " _This_ is too goddamn hard and I _cannot_ do it. What we almost were, what we used to be, what we are now — it's all too much to deal with. _So I don't_. Okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? I mean it's not like you deal with it either. You said yourself tonight, _we don't know how to cope_. That sums us up pretty well, don't you think? You can't decide what you want and I'm too chicken shit to speak up for myself and _neither of us can cope_."

He goes quiet and she knows she's hit a nerve. The silence nearly chokes her but after a moment she decides enough is enough.

"Let's just face it," she says with a sad sigh. "We won't work. We'll never work. We can be parents. We can be there for Flynn and Amy but beyond that...it's too damn hard. You know I'm right. So let's just leave it at that."

She walks out of the office without giving him a chance to say anything else. There's nothing he _can_ say. She's right.

They're too broken and it can't be fixed.

He doesn't come to bed and she doesn't sleep. They don't speak until the next morning when he asks if she wants bacon with her eggs. They pick up the girls and bring them home. Rufus and Jiya notice the tension and the distance. They can see it on their friends' faces but they don't say anything. They don't call them out. It's a mercy Lucy doesn't feel she deserves.

She dives into spending time with girls. They play board games and card games all day long. Once the girls are in bed, Lucy cleans up her office and then starts studying her lesson plans. Wyatt doesn't try to approach her or speak to her unless they're with the girls or he has no other choice. Tomorrow is his first day of work and his first session with his therapist.

She has her first session after her first class the day after that. It'll be a stressful day of firsts and she's already dreading it. Wyatt goes up to bed, eventually, but this time _she_ doesn't. She falls asleep at her desk while trying to catch up on a history that's no longer her own.

She wishes it was. She wishes she could erase what she remembers and replace it with memories from this timeline. She wishes the timeline would change around her and the scars on her heart would cease to exist.

She would be the other Lucy. The Lucy who knew how to be happy. The Lucy who has two precious little girls and the unconditional love of Wyatt Logan.


	4. Tangled Up

**A/N:** Part four! Time is going passed faster now. I'm not following every day anymore so this part takes place over roughly two weeks. This is the penultimate update. We're reaching the end and again, let me say that I am thankful for every review so far! They make my day! Thank yo all so much for reading and enjoying this story as well as any of my other stories! Reviews/comments are always appreciated!

Happy reading!

angellwings

* * *

PART FOUR: Tangled Up

* * *

" _You can push me away.  
I can take it.  
I can make you a promise,  
and break it.  
We know the way it goes by now._

 _Running off just to see,  
if I chase you.  
I pretend I know how to replace you,  
Still we get tangled up somehow."_

 _-"Caught in the Storm", SMASH_

* * *

Denise put him on desk duty for his first day back. He despises it. It's all paperwork — busy work. He's bored as hell and then Denise comes by to remind him of his appointment with Dr. Lindsay and he decides paperwork isn't quite that bad. He puts off going to the appointment as long as he can and decides being fashionably late won't hurt anything. He doesn't really want to go to begin with.

He walks through the door after Dr. Lindsay's receptionist motions him in to the office and is a bit stunned. He expects a bespeckled mousy little man, but what he finds is a huge mountain of a man with a Marine Corps tattoo peeking out from his rolled up shirt sleeves. Alright, so the doctor isn't what he expected, doesn't mean the session won't be. He's been through psych evaluations before. They're purposefully confusing.

He glances around the office and smirks at Dr. Lindsay.

"What?" He asks. "No couch?"

"Funny," Dr. Lindsay says without a single twitch of a smile. "Never heard that one before. Please, Master Sergeant, have a seat."

Wyatt stares at the overstuffed armchair warily as Dr. Lindsay comes around his desk and leans against the front of it.

"You're going to be here for an hour," Lindsay says with a grin. "You can stand if you want but I'd recommend sitting."

He doesn't like the idea of sitting when this Dr. Lindsay towers over him, even leaning against his desk in a slouched stance. Call it his survival instinct or years of fighting guys twice his size on a daily basis — whatever it is, it keeps him from being able to sit across from him.

This particular shrink seems to read that in Wyatt's body language. He chuckles and then shakes his head at Wyatt. "Alright, we'll switch it up then. You lean against the desk and I'll sit."

Lindsay takes the overstuffed armchair and then motions from Wyatt to the desk. Wyatt does as he's asked and leans against the desk in front of Dr. Lindsay.

"Okay, so what are your questions?" Wyatt asks. "I've been through these before. I doubt you'll think of anything new."

Lindsay smiles patiently at him. "This isn't an evaluation, Master Sergeant. You talk, I listen. I'll interject if something needs to be addressed, sure, but otherwise you determine what we talk about. Not me."

"And if I don't want to talk at all?" Wyatt asks with a quirked brow.

"Then we'll sit here in silence for an hour. I get paid either way. It's not me you'll be hurting if you don't take these session seriously," Lindsay warns.

"Yeah, I've heard that one before."

"What one?"

"The bullshit you're only hurting yourself line," Wyatt says with a scoff.

"Hurt yourself all you want. That's not who I was talking about," Lindsay says as he leans back in the chair and crosses his arms over his chest. "You have a wife, don't you? Two little girls? At least that's what it says in your file."

"Yeah, so?" Wyatt asks him with a glare.

Lindsay shrugs. "So, it's not me or yourself you'll be hurting, Wyatt. It's _them_. You seem like a good guy. I don't think you want that."

"Been doing pretty okay on my own," Wyatt says with a derisive snort. "We all seem pretty happy."

"Yes, and I'm sure you are. Doesn't mean things can't improve."

He thinks back to New Years and Lucy and their fight afterward. The distance that's been between them since then. Dr. Lindsay's comment hits closer to home than Wyatt likes.

He crosses his arms, mirroring Lindsay, and dismisses the other man with a roll of his eyes. "Yeah, we're just gonna sit here quietly now if you don't mind. I can handle my own shit. Been doing it since I was a kid. I think I know my own limitations."

"Fine by me. Like I said, I get paid either way."

The rest of the session passes in total silence. The timer on Dr. Lindsay's desk goes off and he stands from the chair.

"Okay, well, see you in two days, Master Sergeant. Next time I'll bring a book to read while you brood," Dr. Lindsay says with a smirk and a wave. "Enjoy the rest of your day."

Wyatt leaves the appointment feeling like he's wasted precious time. It's stupid that he has to attend those sessions anyway. Yes, he told Lucy he would consider it. He just did, and it's _still_ stupid.

The work day passes excruciatingly slowly and when Wyatt finally arrives home the girls are passed off to him from Lucy and she retreats into her office. He gets barely anything more than a hello and a brief how was your day before she disappears. He knows she has her first class in nearly 7 years the next day and he knows they aren't on the best of terms right now, but it still stings.

Lucy comes out of her office for dinner but then vanishes again after she does the dishes. He's seen so little of her that he's utterly shocked when she slips into bed next him sometime around midnight. He expected her to sleep at her desk again since she seems determined to avoid him.

Next thing he knows, Light is filtering in their bedroom window and glaring against his face. He closes his eyes tighter for a beat and then opens one eye first. There's a lavender scent wafting up toward him from a silky soft dark brown _something_ resting against his cheek. One arms is slung around a warm curvy lump in the mattress. For a moment he thinks he's holding a pile of pillows, but then the pillows let out a sigh.

Nope. Not pillows.

That's a person. A woman.

He forces himself to open the other eye and then blink through the bleary haze of morning. _Lucy_. The silky soft dark brown something that smelled like lavender and definitely isn't pillows or a lump in the mattress is _Lucy_. He is currently the big spoon to her little spoon. And judging by the carefree sound of the sigh she let out in her sleep...she doesn't seem to mind.

Although, if she were to wake up in this position she might tell a different tale.

He should untangle them. He should get up right now and start coffee before she is forced to acknowledge their close proximity and awkwardness descends.

The thing is, he doesn't want to untangle himself from her. This feels cozy and right. Also, he finds it interesting that even when they fall asleep facing away from each other they end up like _this_. They were pissed at each other and things between them were tense at best and yet even so he wakes up with his nose in her hair and his arms around her. Seems like the perfect metaphor for their relationship if he says so himself.

But then he remembers how she stayed away from the bed until later than she should have and he remembers the stress and tension she's felt about teaching her first class in too many years and he thinks this is not the morning to indulge his weakness for Lucy Preston. He doesn't want to add to her stress. So, somehow he manages to pull himself away. His sits on the edge of the mattress looking over his shoulder at her for longer than is strictly healthy, but it might be the only time he gets the chance to quietly observe her for a while.

When she's asleep she's not avoiding him or pissed at him or, worse still, altogether _indifferent_. Indifferent Lucy is his least favorite. At least if she's yelling at him then he knows she still cares. It doesn't matter. What's important now is the girls. As long as they can stand united for the two of them then he can deal with an indifferent history professor. He rises from the bed and retreats to the bathroom. Away from her.

She was still asleep when he shut the bathroom door. She'll likely wake and never even know how they sought comfort from each other even in their sleep.

The rest of the morning is chaotic. He makes breakfast and takes the girls to school on his way to work so that Lucy can focus on preparing her lecture notes. He manages to leave her a lunch on the counter before he walks out the door with Amy and Flynn in the hopes that she won't limit herself to vending machine food. He doubts she'll take it with her. She doesn't want his help, or at least that's the impression he's gotten from her.

He then spends his day filing dull bit of paperwork after dull bit of paperwork before picking the girls up from school that afternoon. He needs to stop by the store because they're out of foods for the girls' lunches and they have nothing to cook for dinner that night.

He is very clear with the girls before they walk into the store. They are to stay with him and in his sight at all times. This is the first time he's taken them out so he has to make sure they understand. They respond by assuring him they remember the rules. So, clearly, the other him had the same fear of losing them as he did.

For most of the trip everything is fine. The girls argue a little over which pop tarts to buy and they ask for a sugary cereal that he knows Lucy won't want them to have, but otherwise they do as he asks.

Until Amy tries to get his attention while he's talking to the employee at the deli counter. He asks her to wait until he's done and then looks for her when he has the meats he requested.

He sees Flynn waiting patiently by the cart, but not Amy.

"Where—where's your sister?" Wyatt asks as he frantically glances around their immediate vicinity.

Flynn shrugs and points down an aisle to their right.

"Why didn't you say anything?" He asks her.

"You told Amy not to talk to you while you were talking so I didn't want to get in trouble," Flynn answers hesitantly. "She just went to get mommy something."

"I don't care _why_ she left," he snaps. "What did I tell you both in the car?"

Flynn looks down at her feet and sniffles. "To stay with you."

He pushes the cart with one hand and holds out his hand to her with the other. "Come on, now we need to find Amy."

She takes his hand and they rush down the aisle she pointed to but there's no Amy there. The panic in his chest starts to rise. He walks briskly down every aisle and the longer he goes without seeing a little brunette head the more his chest tightens and his lungs constrict. He starts going through worst case scenarios in his head. One of which involves Rittenhouse snatching a descendent of their beloved David Rittenhouse, no matter how impure that bloodline may be now. It's ridiculous because he knows Rittenhouse is through in this timeline. They have been for quite some time. But for him, it was only two weeks ago that he and Lucy were still trying to take them down.

He finally finds her, a frenzied fifteen minutes later, staring at cheap flower arrangements and holding a box of Lucy's favorite tea. His first reaction is to grab her and hold her close. He habitually inspects her for any wounds or signs of distress and he finds none. He's relieved and yet somehow angrier than he was while she was missing.

He should have taken a moment to breathe. Or maybe finished his shopping to give him time to cool off and scolded her in the car. Or maybe he shouldn't have scolded her at all. Would it have been better to explain it calmly? Regardless, any other way would have been better than what _he_ did.

He lost it. He lost it on Amy. He lost it on Flynn. He was beside himself in panic and worry and yelling at them both in the middle of the grocery store. He felt as though he were having an out of body experience. He knew he was yelling and he knew it was excessively so for the innocent crime of wandering off in a store, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. He was imagining all the people he'd lost, all the times someone in his life had gone missing. Jessica's two weeks. Lucy's six weeks. Hell even those few hours Garcia Flynn had her. _All of it_.

When he finally comes to his senses, he realizes he has two hysterically sobbing four year olds staring at him with wrecked faces in front of the cheap grocery store flowers. He wants to crawl in a hole and never come out. They are devastated. Inconsolable to the point that he feels like crying himself.

He abandons the cart, picks them both up, and takes them to the car. He doesn't want to be seen in that grocery store ever again. He feels like a cruel ogre who's undeserving of everything he has. He stops beside the SUV to set them on their feet and then kneels to meet their eyes.

"Girls," he pleads softly.

They're still sniffling and tears are streaming down their chubby cheeks, but they open their red eyes just enough to look at him.

"I'm sorry. I am so sorry. It's okay," he says as he exhales shakily. "Everything is okay."

"I'm sorry too, daddy!" Amy wails through her hiccuping tears. While she speaks he runs a hand through her hair and rubs her back. She's ripping his heart from his chest and he only has himself to blame. Her little voice is strained and raw from crying. "I'm sorry! Don't be mad. I didn't mean it!"

"I'm not mad, babygirl. I'm not," he says as his eyes mist over and he pulls her into his chest. He kisses her forehead and holds her tight. He reaches his free hand over to Flynn and wipes her tears from her cheeks. "That goes for you too, okay?"

Flynn sniffs and nods but her bottom lip is still quivering. He gulps loudly and tries to pack away the agony he feels at having upset them so badly. But he can't. He's taken this much too far and he cannot believe he lost control that quickly. It's all his fears about the worst parts of his nature coming true. Like a self fulfilling prophecy. He's doomed to inflict on others what was inflicted on him. God, does he ever _loathe_ himself.

He pulls Flynn in too and then shifts to his knees. He needs to hold them, to love them. He needs to counter balance every bit of fear and heartbreak he just instilled in them. Somehow, someway. His words escape him through coarse emotions and a sore throat. "I love you both. I'm not mad. You just scared me by running off like that. But I shouldn't have yelled the way I did and I'm sorry."

Both sets of tiny arms wrap around his neck and hold on in signature Preston women fashion. He peppers kisses across their faces until their breathing slows and the crying softens. He knows they can't huddle in the parking lot forever but he can't bring himself to move just yet.

Jesus, he feels like a mean bastard. This shouldn't have happened. He should never have let his temper escalate to that point no matter what the girls did.

He eventually packs the girls in the car and makes the executive decision to order pizza for dinner. It's not healthy but he doesn't give a damn. He's not going back in that particular store for at least a month. The girls are eerily quiet the rest of the way home and for every minute of silence another crack forms in his heart.

They get home and he's sure the three of them look tired and defeated. It's how he feels. Lucy's sitting on the couch, reading a book, when they walk in the door and the girls immediately go to her. They crawl onto the couch and snuggle into either side of her. She sets her book aside and then wraps one arm around each of them. She gives Wyatt a curious look as he hangs his jacket by the door.

"You didn't go to the store?"

It's an innocent question, but a trigger for all three of the other people in the room.

"I'm sorry, mommy!" Amy suddenly cries, at the mere mention of the store. "I walked away from daddy and he couldn't see me any more! I just wanted to get you tea and flowers cause you seemed sad! But I scared daddy! I'm sorry!"

He rubs a hand over his face as her tears start up again. Amy throws herself at Lucy and buries her face in Lucy's neck with a gut wrenching sob. He leans his back against the wall across from the couch and closes his eyes. This is why he wanted to leave early on. _This_. He shouldn't have let Lucy talk him out of it. He should have left. Why didn't he leave?

"Oh, hey, baby. It's okay," Lucy whispers into Amy's hair as she rubs circles on her back and cradles her closer. "You shouldn't have run away from daddy, though. You know that, don't you?"

She nods against Lucy's neck.

"Okay, see? Now you know and this will never happen again, right?" Lucy asks in a bright comforting voice. Amy nods again and sniffles as she pulls back to look at Lucy. "Lesson learned," Lucy tells her before she sweeps a finger down the bridge of her nose. "Now, we move forward. Yeah?"

"Yeah," Amy agrees softly.

Lucy lets Amy go before turning to Flynn and holding her arms open. Flynn dives in. Lucy runs her fingers through Flynn's hair and kisses the top of her head.

"Everybody got a little scared today. Daddy especially. But we're all together now and all is forgiven. Hm?" She asks against the crown of Flynn's head.

Her tone is warm and loving. The epitome of maternal. With a few words she has soothed both girls and Wyatt is simultaneously jealous and impressed as hell.

"Yes, ma'am," Flynn says with a nod and a discreet sniffle.

The twins lean back from Lucy and she squeezes their chins affectionately. "Go wash your faces and try and calm down, okay? Can you do that?"

They nod seriously and then trudge up the stairs. Once they're in the bathroom, Lucy crosses the room to him.

"What happened?" She asks in concern.

The concern isn't just for the girls. He can tell. She's worried about him too. It's the most regard she's shown for him in a couple of days. There's no trace of the indifferent mask she adopted after New Years. What happened with him and the girls was traumatic for him and _somehow_ she knows that. She just _knows._ He would be touched if he didn't feel like the scum of the earth. He isn't worthy of anyone's concern, least of all Lucy's. Nevertheless, he confesses everything in a rushed rhythm. Barely breathing as he releases his burden into the atmosphere.

"I turned around and Amy was just gone. It took me fifteen heartstopping minutes to find her, and I just— _fuck_ , Lucy, I lost it. For a second I don't think I was completely present, honestly. It—it was awful. I think I scared them more than they scared me," he admits. "I couldn't even buy the groceries. Once I realized how much I upset them I had to get them home. You should have heard them. Amy was—" he stops and looks down at the floor while tears gather in his eyes. He desperately wants the floorboards to open up and swallow him whole. The sound of their crying is forever etched in his memory now. "I made them cry, Lucy. Gasping, wailing sobs. I told you I'm not cut out to be a dad, not unless you want me to be one _like him_. I'm—I'm gonna turn out to be a sadistic old son of a bitch just like _him_ and none of you deserve that."

Her hand finds his chin, as she did with the girls, and pulls his eyes to hers. "No, you won't, Wyatt. You will never be _him_. The fact that you are here with me feeling the way you do right now proves that. You _love_ those girls. The last thing you ever want is to hurt them. That makes you different than him. _Better_ than him. Yes, you scared them today and it does sound as though you overreacted, but Amy _did_ wander off when she shouldn't have. You were scared for her safety. After what we've been through I'm actually surprised your reaction wasn't worse than it was." Her hand skims up his cheek and then through his hair. He's in awe of her ability to be affectionate with him after the wall that's stood between them lately. He doesn't deserve her. Never has. How does she continually defend him, even to himself, after he inevitably fucks everything up? "Yes, you're a parent but you're also human. You're going to make mistakes and that's okay. So long as you learn from those mistakes. You have never had a problem learning from your mistakes, Wyatt. I don't anticipate that changing now."

After their tension the last few days and the argument still hanging over their heads, Lucy words of assurance mean _everything_.

"You are a good father," she says with a compassionate gaze. "One mistake won't change that and it won't change how the girls feel about you. I promise." Her meaningful look slowly becomes a kind smile as she changes the topic. "Now, what kind of takeout should we get? Because obviously no one is cooking after this."

That comment manages to make him grin. "I like how you say 'no one' like there's ever a possibility of you cooking."

She laughs and then shrugs. "Let me have the pretense at least. I mean I do have _some_ pride."

What did he do right to end up married to her in _any_ timeline? He doubts he'll ever know the answer, but he'll ponder it for the rest of his days anyway. She's managed to soothe him the same way she did the twins and he is in secret awe of her.

She agrees to ordering pizza and they eat together as a family. Wyatt sits between the girls and offers them lots of extra affection. Overly so, probably, but they don't seem to mind. Amy, especially, enthusiastically basks in his attention. She regails him with stories of Annie Oakley and Calamity Jane, real life cowgirls that Lucy's been teaching her about. By the time dinner is done, she has slipped into his lap as she nibbles on the last of her pizza crust. Her back is settled against his chest. She is astonishingly relaxed and happy. He places a grateful kiss to the top of her head. It seems that all is forgiven and her fear has passed. Flynn gets up from her seat and hugs him around the neck with a popping kiss to his cheek.

"I love you, daddy," she tells him as she smiles prettily at him. Lucy's smile. Because _of course_ it is.

"Love you too, munchkin," he assures her before he kisses her temple and holds her against his side.

"Mommy, can we have ice cream?" Amy asks excitedly.

He's glad she asked Lucy because in the state he's in he would have given in for sure.

"No, I think pizza is enough of a treat for tonight," Lucy tells her with a chuckle and a grin. "Good try though."

It isn't until they've put the girls to bed and he and Lucy are standing side by side at their bathroom sinks that he remembers what day it is. He feels even more guilt for not asking sooner. Especially, now that the wall between them seems to have come down.

"How was your first day back?" He asks as he reaches for his toothbrush.

"Not horrible. I slipped up with the Salem Witch Trials versus Salem Witch _Revolt_ but all things considered, not bad," she says with a shrug. "It felt kind of like riding a bike."

"That's good. And you had your first therapy session today?" He asks with a rueful grin.

She nods thoughtfully, as if she's remembering something, and then smiles at him. "Yes, I did. And it wasn't as terrifying as I thought it would be. By the way, you never told me about yours. How did it go?"

"Fine, I guess. It didn't seem particularly helpful," he answers as he lifts one shoulder carelessly.

She grins knowingly at him with raised pointed brows. "Did you actually try?"

He avoids her question by putting toothpaste on his toothbrush and then shoving it in his mouth. But he shouldn't have bothered. To Lucy that's as good as an answer.

"I'll take that as a no," Lucy says with a soft chuckle. "You know, Wyatt, therapy won't work unless you actually participate in it."

She squeezes his arm as she passes him while leaving the room and his eyes follow her. Now that he thinks about it, she's seemed lighter today than she has been since New Years Eve. He wonders if it was her first session that's helped her. If it is then that's fine. Good for her. But just because she seems to have gotten something out of her session doesn't mean he'll get anything out of his.

He finishes brushing his teeth and then joins her under the covers. Just like the night before they sleep facing away from each other, not wanting to risk a single accidental touch.

Sleep overtakes him quickly. He's had an emotional and exhausting day so he's not surprised, but he only wishes the sleep that finds him will be peaceful. He never gets what he wishes so of course it isn't.

He finds himself at the Alamo. But this time the only people trapped in its walls are Lucy, the girls, and himself. Without Rufus there's no way out. No place to go to escape. They're cornered in the chapel and the first person to catch a bullet is Lucy. His heart wrenches as she collapses to the ground bloody and cold. Now it's up to him alone to keep the girls alive and fight off as many men as he can. The girls are huddled together, sobbing and wailing and terrified as they had been earlier that day. As hard as he tries he knows he can't save them. But he keeps going, keeps fighting.

A hand grabs his arm and Wyatt seizes it before pinning his assailant to the ground. His fist raises to strike, only when he looks down it's Lucy underneath him — not one of Santa Anna's men.

He reels backward so fast he tangles in the sheets and stumbles from the bed in a bleary eyed haze. He glances frantically around the room. He's no longer at the Alamo. He's in his and Lucy's bedroom.

That's when he comes to his senses. Everything slides back into focus. He was never at the Alamo. He was having a dream. An awful dream. Lucy is sitting up in bed, eyes watery with worry, a hand covering her neck. The image of Lucy pinned underneath him flashes through his mind. Did he…

No, he wouldn't. But did he?

She sits up on her knees and drops her hand from her throat. The skin is a bit red and in the vague shape of a handprint. He has his answer.

That wasn't part of the dream. He actually had pinned Lucy to the bed by her throat and raised his fist to hit her. That _happened_.

Lucy comes around the bed to him but every step she takes forward pushes him farther away. He could have _hurt_ her. He _almost_ hurt her. His back hits the wall but she keeps coming. He has no where else to go as her hands frame his face and force him to look at her.

"You're safe, Wyatt."

"But you're not," is his immediate reply.

"I am, though," she assures him. "You woke up. You saw it was me. Nothing happened."

"What happens if someday I don't see _you_?" He asks her as tears cloud his vision. "What if a day comes where I don't snap out of it?"

"What happened?" She asks as one hand combs back through his hair. She ignores his question and presses for an answer to hers instead. "Where were you?"

He still can't bring himself to touch her. He wants to. He wants to hold onto her like a life preserver in a stormy sea. But he's still afraid he'll somehow hurt her. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he left a mark on her. Not again. After that last accidental hit he swore to himself it would never happen again. He would never let it happen again. Not with Lucy or anyone else.

"Wyatt?" She asks as tears fill her eyes too and her hand caresses his cheek. "Talk to me. What happened?"

"We were under attack. You, me, and the girls," he chokes out. "I couldn't save you. I was trying to save them, but we were outnumbered. A hand grabbed me and I woke up on top of you."

"Here at the house?" She asks in a soft lilting voice that soothes some of his fear.

"No, the Alamo," he replies with a thick swallow. "The girls were screaming and sobbing—you—you took a bullet because I couldn't protect all three of you at once—"

He can feel a few tears on his face and his words are coming out in short bursts as he tries to breathe through his internal chaos. Lucy's hands cup both his cheeks and her thumbs wipe away the tears he let fall. She pulls his forehead to hers and this time his arms promptly fold around her waist. He is hungry for the comfort she is, so willingly, offering him as he remembers the way she was mercilessly gunned down in his dream. He needs her too much to hold himself back any longer.

"The girls are asleep in their beds where we tucked them in, I am safe and sound, and you are in Palo Alto, California far away from San Antonio and Texas. That was a nightmare, _this_ is your life, Wyatt Logan," she reminds him as her eyes hold his and keep him grounded with her.

He removes one hand from her waist to trail up her side and then her neck before it lands on her cheek. He's assuring himself she's real and unharmed. There's no bullet wound in her chest, no scrapes or cuts or blood of any kind. Once he's certain of that he tucks her into his chest, with her face pressed into the curve of his neck, presses a lingering kiss to her forehead and holds on for dear life.

That's twice in one day that he's scared himself and the people he loves. He can't keep doing this. Close calls can't always be close calls. Odds are one of those times won't be _close_. One of those times he'll lose it for certain and the collateral damage may be too great.

He and Lucy eventually make their way back to bed but this time, they're wrapped around each other. His episode seems to have had as much of an affect on her as it did on him.

Lucy takes the girls to school the next morning and let's him sleep in. He comes down stairs to find a hastily scribbled note from Lucy and two messy drawings sitting beside of it.

" _In case you need any more reminders of what's real. -Lucy"_

The drawings were done entirely in crayon and each was signed by a different girl. Both are of him. One has a stick figure Wyatt as a sheriff, cowboy hat on his head and a golden star shaped badge on his chest. The other shows him sitting in what looks like a plane with a brunette stick figure pilot. Lucy's handwriting is below each drawing with quotes. He chuckles and feels his eyes watering as he reads.

" _Sheriffs are heroes so daddy is a sheriff, and I'm his deputy!" -Amy, age 4_

" _Amelia (Earhart) had a nagivator (navigator) and I pick daddy for mine! He never has to ask for directions." -Flynn, age 4_

The drawings and Lucy's note go with him to work, folded into his wallet for safe keeping. How Lucy knew he needed that is mystifying, but he is grateful for the gesture.

It's that gesture and the events of the day before that have him sitting in Dr. Lindsay's armchair later that day instead of skipping his session entirely.

"I brought a book," Lindsay says as he leans against his desk. "Am I gonna need it this time?"

"No," Wyatt admits with a shaky exhale. "As much as I hate to say it, you were right."

"About what?" Lindsay asks.

"I need to do this. Not for me, but for my girls. All three of them," he says. He clears his throat awkwardly as his eyes mist over again. "They believe in me and I don't want to let them down."

"And acknowledging that is exactly why you won't," Lindsay replies with an encouraging smile. "So, tell me about them."

"What?"

"Your three women, big and small," Lindsay says with a chuckle. "You obviously care a lot about them, Wyatt. If I'm going to get to know you then I think we should start there."

Now, that's a topic he could talk about all day. Or at least for the next hour.

* * *

A routine starts to form over the next few days. Days are busy and hectic. So busy and hectic that they are plenty distracting from things like sexual tension or the way she wants wrap Wyatt Logan up in a bubble and protect him from the world. However, he seems to have recovered from the grocery store episode and the nightmare just fine. When he comes home from work that Friday it's almost as if a weight has been lifted off of his shoulders.

He thanks her for the drawings and they exchange understanding smiles. As hard as it is and as guilty as she feels, it seems New Years Eve is officially behind them. They enter a phase where they become co-parents and housemates with no time to dwell on more. Not that she wants to dwell on _more_. She doesn't. Not romantically anyway.

They share a bed, a bathroom, and household chores. Between work and the girls and everything else a comfortable distance begins to form. Comfortable in the sense that they're accustomed to it. Not in the sense that she likes it. Yes, she's aware that her thoughts and feelings seem to conflict.

Having sex with him is too much, but merely coexisting with him is too little. She's still convinced they can't be romantic partners - even if her therapist, Dr. Samuels, thinks otherwise.

(" _Don't you think Wyatt deserves some say in that decision? Maybe you should ask him if he thinks it might work?"_ Uh, no, she can't ask Wyatt. Because he doesn't realize they're doomed to break each other's hearts like she does. No, she made the best decision for the both of them. It's _better_ this way.)

But even so, even if they can't be romantic, they can still be friends, can't they? He's the only person who shares her experiences. She needs his friendship at the very least. So far, they've only relied on each other when things are dire. She would like more than that. The best change they've managed since landing in this timeline is rediscovering their fondness for each other. She doesn't want that to stop, but she doesn't know how to bring it up.

Turns out, the universe decides to force her hand.

She's preparing for a meeting with a student after class when her phone rings from inside her blazer pocket. She frowns at the number for Flynn and Amy's school on her caller ID as she answers.

At the words "there's been an accident" her world narrows. Her pulse quickens and breathing becomes harder, as if she's breathing through a thin straw. She hears random words that the school director is saying but her brain doesn't string them into sentences. She has to ask the woman to repeat herself once the ground beneath her is a little more stable.

Flynn fell from a tree. She hit her head on a rock. She was conscious when the ambulance took her away and the paramedics think she'll just need stitches. But they're taking her to the hospital anyway. Her teacher went with her. She writes down which hospital. The director tells her Amy is distraught and someone may need to come and pick her up as well.

Lucy is surprised she managed to retain any of that given the mania coursing through her veins. She's up and out of her office like a shot. Locking the door behind her, setting off to the parking garage, and dialing Wyatt's number on auto pilot.

Hospital. She has to get to the hospital. Where did she park her car again? Oh screw it. She'll just call a cab or an Uber or something. She's pretty sure she shouldn't drive this distracted anyway.

Wyatt picks up on the third ring.

"Hey, what's up?" He asks, as casually as if they were going over a shopping list.

She has to remind herself that he doesn't know there's an emergency to keep from yelling at him. Instead of yelling, her words come out in a rapidfire deluge of information. She can feel the world slipping away from her again as it did in her office.

"The school just called. Flynn fell out of a tree and hit her head. They're taking her to the hospital. Amy's upset and they want someone to pick her up and—" She stops walking in the middle of the faculty parking garage, tears trailing down her cheeks as she cluelessly searches for her nondescript sedan. "—and god dammit I can't find where I parked my car!"

Her words echo in the cavernous space and it's only then that she hears the raised volume of her own voice.

There's a break of silence before Wyatt speaks. When he does, his tone is low and soft in attempt to pacify her anxiety.

"Lucy, breathe. Just stop and take a breath."

She does as he asks and then takes a second breath for good measure.

"Better?" He asks.

She's still crying but she doesn't feel quite as hysterical. "A little. Wyatt, they took her to the hospital. She hit her head on a rock. Her head! What if it's more serious than stitches?"

"Was she conscious when they left for the hospital?" He asks as she hears worry seep into his tone.

"Yes, or that's what I was told anyway."

"Good. That's good. If it didn't knock her out then it's less likely to be too serious," Wyatt assures her. She knows he's not a medical professional but she also knows he's taken several blows to the head. His hopeful outlook eases some of the horror flooding her brain. "You go to the hospital and talk to the doctor. I'll go get Amy and we'll meet you there. Which hospital?"

She tells him the name of the hospital but just as they're about to hang up he stops her.

"Oh! The key fob for your car," he says. She hears a snap in the background and pictures him snapping his fingers as a thought hits him. Despite her apprehension, she smiles a little at that. She's so caught up in that visual that she almost misses his question. "Does it have an alarm button?"

"Yes," she answers with a furrowed brow.

"Use the alarm to find your car," he tells her. It's such an obvious solution that she's embarrassed she didn't think of it herself. His tone changes from decisive to warm before he continues. "She'll be okay, Lucy. We'll figure it out."

"We'll be fine?" She repeats optimistically, hoping to revive their mantra from before New Years. Before she screwed everything up, literally.

"We'll be fine," he says calmly. "I'll see you at the hospital as soon as I pick up Amy."

Her conversation with Wyatt stays with her. It keeps her grounded as she finds her car, drives to the hospital, and locates Flynn in the emergency room. She's on a gurney that's been curtained off for privacy and as soon as Lucy steps in to the area the doctor pulls her aside.

"Are you this little daredevil's mom?" He asks with a kind smile.

Lucy sniffles and grins slightly before she nods. The doctor hands her a tissue and waits for her to wipe her eyes before he gives her Flynn's rundown.

"She's absolutely fine. It's remarkable really. No signs of a concussion or swelling. Just a gash across her scalp that they're stitching now. Twelve stitches total. We won't need to keep her for observation and you can take her home as soon as they're done." The doctor squeezes her shoulder and winks at her. "Don't worry, Mrs. Preston-Logan. She'll be falling out of trees again in no time. She's a real trooper, that one."

Lucy feels relief all over her body but still manages an amused snort at the Doctor's last few sentences. "She gets the ability to take a licking and keep on ticking from her father. He's just as hard headed as she is. Never thought that would work in my favor until now."

Flynn spots her as the doctor leaves and brightens considerably. They finish her stitches and then Lucy's finally left alone with her baby girl. She rushes to her side and wraps her in a tight hug. Flynn cries against her chest. She's not in pain, Lucy asked to make sure. She's just scared. Scared is much better. Lucy can deal with scared.

"Was it a big tree?" Lucy asks as she wipes Flynn's tears away with the tissue the doctor gave her.

Flynn nods. "The biggest one at school."

"Well, thank goodness you're so stubborn," Lucy tells her with a warm smile, as she wills her own tears away. "The doctor said that hard head of yours kept you from getting really _really_ hurt. How about you don't climb so high next time unless there's a grown up there to catch you, okay?"

"Okay," Flynn agrees sheepishly.

Lucy closes her eyes and places a thankful kiss to Flynn's forehead. Whatever force protected her little girl has every bit of her gratitude. "You were very brave with those stitches, baby."

"Thank you, mommy," Flynn says with with a sniffle.

"I think that calls for some ice cream when we get home. What do you think?" Lucy asks her as she cranes back to meet her eyes.

"Really?" Flynn asks in excitement. Lucy is relieved to see Flynn's bottom lip has stopped quivering. "Can Amy have some too?"

Lucy nods with an amused grin. She's the one who was hurt and she wants to make sure her sister gets a treat too? This kid. Absolutely precious. "What kind do you want? We'll pick it up on the way home."

"Chocolate chip cookie dough!" Flynn yells happily. Thank God she has Wyatt's ability to bounce back. Lucy has no doubt that's how Flynn is able to sound so chipper after all she's been through.

"What's all this about chocolate chip cookie dough?" A voice asks from the opening in the curtain. "Who said you could have ice cream?"

Lucy turns to find Wyatt with an unusually quiet Amy in his arms. His face is teasing, with a crooked grin pointed at Flynn. She fights the urge to throw her arms around him in relief. Just seeing his face calms her racing pulse and pounding heart.

"Mommy did! She said I was really brave about the stitches and deserved ice cream! Amy too!"

Amy hasn't looked at Flynn or lifted her head from Wyatt's shoulder. Lucy's heart goes out to her. It must have been terrifying watching her sister be taken away in an ambulance, not knowing where she was being taken or what was happening. Where Flynn has Wyatt's fortitude, Amy has Lucy's sensitivity. Poor Amy must have been beside herself in terror.

Wyatt sits in the chair next to Flynn's gurney and then presses a kiss to Amy's temple before softly speaking against her skin. "See, babygirl, she's okay. She's even made sure you get ice cream. She's right here with us and looks good as new."

Finally, Amy picks her head up and turns toward Flynn. She stares at her for a long moment, cataloguing Flynn's well being for herself, before she reaches out and grabs her twin's hand. She holds it tight, sniffles, and then meets Flynn's eyes.

"Where's your bandaid?" Amy asks her sister, looking as though it took everything in her to force out the words.

Both Lucy and Wyatt breathe a sigh of relief. Both girls seem okay, or at least seem like they _will_ be..

"They didn't give me one," Flynn answers. "They sewed me up! You know, kinda like how Auntie Denise makes her scarves?"

"Ew! They did that to your head?" Amy says as she scrunches up her nose in disgust.

"Yep! Twelve stitches!" Flynn then looks from Amy to Wyatt and asks. "Is that a lot?"

Yes, Lucy thinks. Too many for her liking.

Wyatt nods seriously. "That's a lot." He looks as if he doesn't like that number either.

"Wow! Flynn! That means you're extra brave and we should get at least _two scoops_ of ice cream!" Amy yells with a sincere stare of admiration pointed at her sibling.

Lucy lets out a sudden booming laugh at that and shakes her head at her little rascally twins. Wyatt meets her eyes over the girls' heads and laughs with her. What a handful they are. But totally and completely worth it.

They take the girls home and let them have ice cream before dinner. Not at all a normal occurrence in their house. But this day was hardly normal and Lucy was too eager to see them smiling to care. As many things as her mother did wrong with her, her attitude toward sugar wasn't one of them. Lucy adopted it almost as soon as it became their responsibility to feed two growing girls. She was relieved to find out that other Lucy had the same philosophy.

She leaves Wyatt with the girls for a moment to wash the smudged mascara off of her face only to feel her fear and her panic hit her in full force once again. It comes out of nowhere. She thought she was fine and that she'd dealt with it, but obviously not. It blindsides her and she has to grip the bathroom counter to remain upright. She manages to sit down on the closed lid of the toilet and then tries to focus on her breathing.

 _Flynn_ is okay. Flynn is _okay. Flynn is okay._

Repeating it to herself doesn't work. Because all she hears is the doctor telling her there was no "swelling." At the time she thought he meant around the gash but now…

Now she understands he meant no swelling _of the brain_.

The threat of what could have happened turns up her panic a few levels until she's shaking and the bathroom around her fades away. Instead, she's in a car with water creeping up her legs. Her door is stuck and her seatbelt is jammed. She can't move. She can't breath. She hears her name but it sounds far away. The water surges higher and reaches her waist. For some reason her hands are cold too. Her whole body is cold.

Then suddenly there's warmth. Starting with her fingers and then her palms before it extends to her wrists.

"Lucy."

She hears it that time. Her name. It sounds close.

"Breathe, Lucy."

Familiar words, familiar voice, familiar hands. Hands. That's the warmth she feels. He's holding her hands. That warmth touches her face. She feels fingers spread across her cheek and a thumb graze a path over her cheekbone. Slowly, the tile floor of their bathroom reappears in place of the car floorboard. The water recedes and the blackness gives way to light. The first thing she sees when she opens her eyes is blue. Concerned, _anguished_ blue.

"There you are," the familiar voice says with a relieved sigh. "Come on, keep breathing."

Wyatt.

"Hi," she says through a deep breath and a wan smile.

"Hi," he replies. "I thought you were gonna pass out on me for a second there, ma'am."

"Sorry to disappoint," she mutters with a pathetic chuckle.

"What triggered this?" He asks as he continues to caress his thumb over her cheek. "You were fine earlier, I thought."

"I thought so too," she confesses. "But then I remembered...the doctor said—he said there was no swelling. I didn't catch it before because I was so worried about her, but now it's all I can hear. He meant swelling of the brain. She—she could have died, Wyatt." The tears are working their way back as she thinks about what she would do if she ever lost one of the girls. She's not sure she could survive it. "We could have lost Flynn today."

"But we didn't," Wyatt reminds her. "She's downstairs eating ice cream and watching _Paw Patrol_ with Amy. She's absolutely perfect."

"We were lucky."

"Yeah, we were, but, Lucy, you can't sit here and stress yourself out over something that didn't happen. All four Preston-Logan's are safe and accounted for and _home_. We're okay," he assures her.

"Oh God, Wyatt, I don't know that I can do this mom thing," she says with a loud gulp. "It's too much. I feel _too much_. I worry all the time! If it were up to me they'd be bubble children and live in some inflatable cocoon where nothing could ever hurt them. I don't like that I have to go to work and they have to go to school. I—what if all this worry and fear turns me into my mother?"

He quirks a disbelieving brow at her and chuckles. "Not possible."

"I'm serious! What if I try to control them or push them too far? What if I make them feel like nothing they do is good enough?"

"There's about as much of a chance of that happening as there is of Denise knitting a presentable looking scarf," Wyatt says with an amused grin.

"Wyatt," she says with a huff. "I'm not joking."

"Neither am I," he says as he leans back and sits on the edge of the tub. "I'll prove it to you."

"How?" She asks him with a roll of her eyes.

"Just one question should do it," Wyatt tells her with a knowing grin. "What do you want them to be when they grow up?"

"Happy," she answers instantly.

"Exactly," Wyatt says with a warm smile. "Do you care what they do to achieve that happiness?"

She smiles back at him as she begins to understand what he's getting at. "No."

He nods and then continues with an impish grin. "Do you have a grand plan for one of them to follow in your footsteps? Do you have some douchebag doctor's kid in mind for an arranged marriage? Do you—"

She laughs and slaps a hand over his mouth when it's clear he doesn't plan on stopping. "Okay, I get the gist, smartass."

He pulls her hand away from his mouth and holds it in his own as his expression transitions from mischievious to heartfelt. "You're so much more than your mother ever was, Lucy. You're full of warmth and compassion. You care about others. Not even five years on the run from Rittenhouse could take that from you. Those are the things you're going to pass on to the girls. Those are the kind of people you're going to help them become. I know I have my doubts about being a father, but I have never once doubted your ability to be their mother. You were meant for them. I know that for certain."

"Thank you," she replies with an awed expression. She never expected such a speech from him. He is a man of few words, but when he chooses to use them he always floors her. Always. "For the record," she adds as she squeezes his hand. "I have no doubts about you being a father. Not a single one."

He meets her eyes and the next words out of his mouth surprise her. For once, they're on the same page and she's taken aback.

"I miss this," he admits. "Us." He winces awkwardly and then clarifies. " _Talking_. Us talking."

"Me too," she confesses. "I miss this too."

"I know that you think we can't...that we can't be more than we already are and I get that. But can we at least be friends again?" Wyatt asks as he looks away from her to focus on the tile floor.

She gets up and then sits down on the edge of the tub next to him, never once releasing his hand. She nudges his shoulder with her own and smiles at him. "I mean I guess co-parenting would be easier with a friend than a housemate."

He chuckles. "Probably, yeah."

"I'd like that," she says as he finally returns his eyes to hers. "It's been a while since we've really been _friends_ and I would like to have that back."

"Then consider it done," Wyatt tells her as he gives her an easy smile. " _Friend_."

Friend. Hearing him say that should make her unbelievably happy. It's what she wants—what's she's been wanting for a couple of weeks now—but it doesn't satisfy the way she thought it would. She still feels like some vital piece of her is missing.

She thought she knew what she wanted. Now she's not so sure. Well, _Fuck_.

* * *

Wyatt's been out of town for a week. For the first time since going back to work, Denise gave him a real field assignment. He felt awful leaving Lucy alone with the girls but she was very supportive and from what he understood she had plenty of help from Rufus, Jiya and Denise. He checked in with her and the girls every day but he is honestly surprised by how severely he's missed them.

He decides to surprise them when the mission wraps up and it's clear he can come home early. He talked to Lucy that morning and she said the girls would be staying with Rufus and Jiya that night so she could get some grading done. She also mentioned that her car wouldn't start and she had to rely on a coworker to get to campus.

His thought is that he can save her the awkward ride home with a colleague and pick her up himself. Maybe he can even take her to dinner. There are things they probably need to discuss. He isn't sure what he wants with Lucy anymore and he doesn't think she's as sure as she pretends to be either. He still loves her. That's obvious. But loving someone doesn't mean you should be with them. Not always.

Is Lucy right? Are they fated to hurt each other over and over again or do they just need to work on their timing? Can he actually make her happy? Is there a way for this pretend relationship to become a real functional relationship? Not just for the sake of the girls but for themselves as well? He's not entirely sure but he would like to find out.

He shows up just as her last lecture is ending. He's making his way through the crowd of students that are leaving and the closer he gets to Lucy the more his stomach drops. Standing there next to her with a charming smile is Dr. Emile Emory. The man from New Years that Wyatt took an instant dislike to. He leans toward her and whispers something in her ear and she throws her head back in laughter. Wyatt can't remember the last time she laughed like that _with him._

Was _this_ why she didn't want _him_? Did she want someone like this Dr. Emory guy instead? Older, sophisticated, more degrees than he knew what to do with? Jealousy flares in his chest and he hates it. He hates himself for it. It's his most damning flaw and he knows it's caused a rift between him and Lucy before.

Lucy spots him as he stops on the last step and beams at him.

Well, at least she seems happy to see him.

She excuses herself from Emile to collect her things. Emile waves politely at Wyatt before he turns and leaves the auditorium. He continues the rest of the way to her and tries to get a handle on the flare of jealousy that's now fanning itself into a full on flame. She stares at him for a long hesitant pause before she finally throws herself at him in a hug. A genuine old fashioned Lucy Preston hug. The first one he's gotten from her in longer than he can remember.

It's almost enough to stamp out the jealousy, until the conversation starts.

"You're home!" She says as she pulls out of the hug. "The girls will be so happy to see you in the morning."

His brow crinkles at her phrasing.

"What about you?" He asks worriedly. "Are you happy to see me?"

She gives him a look as if he's lost his mind and says, "Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be happy to see you?"

"No reason. Just...the way you said that was odd. You only talked about the girls," he tells her with a self conscious shrug.

"I'm sorry," she says sarcastically with a teasing laugh. "I thought the hug said it all. I'll remember to back it up with words next time."

"What was that Emory guy doing here?" He asks as he takes her work tote from her and they make their way up the auditorium steps.

"Waiting to give me a ride home, until you showed up that is."

"What?"

His question comes out with more force than he intends but the shock of what he's just heard prevents him from catching it in time.

"I told you. The sedan wouldn't start and I had to get a colleague to take me to work. He lives closest to us so he offered," Lucy explains with a casual lift of her shoulder. "No big deal."

"So, he was going to take you home to our house where you would be alone and kid-free for the night?" Wyatt asks through a tense jaw. He hears the words and he knows they're idiotic but he can't stop them.

"Watch yourself, Logan," she replies in a warning tone. There's thinly veiled anger dripping from her every word. "You're approaching very thin ice."

That shuts him up. He's heard that tone a handful of times in all the years he's known her and it never ends well for the person on the receiving end of it. He doesn't say anything else for the rest of their walk to his car or even the drive back to their house. He's afraid he'll say more stupid shit. It isn't until their front door closes behind them that he feels comfortable enough to speak again.

"I'm sorry," he blurts out with a regretful sigh. "I was an ass back there. I mean, even if you were...involved with him it's none of my business. You know, cause you and I aren't—we're not actually together."

"I'm glad you're sorry, but that still doesn't explain anything. What was that, Wyatt?" She asks as she throws her bag down on the couch. She's angry and confused. He can see both of those emotions on her face plain as day as she speaks. "You were like that with Flynn long before anything happened, you were determined I should never even give Noah a chance, and now Dr. Emory? _Why_? You can't decide if you want me but in the meantime no one else can have me? Is that it?"

So much for a nice chat over dinner about finding out what they could be. He's just gone and fucked that all up, hasn't he? Although, at this point, what does he have to lose? She's already pissed. Might as well tell her the truth.

"Knowing that I want you has never been the problem, Lucy. The problem is deciding whether being with you would be worse or _better_ for us and after all this time and the things that have happened between us I just...I don't know if I would hurt you more or if we would actually be happy— really and truly happy."

He's thinking his next session with Lindsay probably needs to focus on his jealousy. It's been a problem his whole life and he really needs to stop letting it get in his way. _Especially_ with Lucy.

"And seeing you potentially happy with someone else _scares me_. I start to think that I could lose you and I'm not ready for that. I'm never ready for that," he admits in a rush. "So I say stupid things and end up fucking it all up. I'm sorry."

Her anger softens and her eyelids close. The heels of her hands rub into her eyes and she breathes in and out slowly. Like she's trying to work up the nerve. His feet naturally carry him closer and closer to her the more emotional she gets. He physically can't maintain his distance when she might be hurt.

"It's not like I've been a saint either, Wyatt," she tells him as she removes her hands from her face. She looks briefly surprised at the amount of space he's crossed but recovers quickly. "I've been running from you since the day Rufus died. But the thing is, I can't let myself get too far away from you. Something about you always pulls me back in. And the result is that I treat you like a damn yo-yo. That's never been fair for either of us." She pauses and he hears her sniff and then gulp back emotions before she pushes on. "I want you but I'm scared I won't be enough to keep you. I'm scared that you'll end up hurt because of me."

"So, essentially, we're both scared shitless?" He asks with a tiny dry grin as he comes to stand directly in front of her.

"Essentially," she agrees with a watery chuckle.

"I just want you to be happy, Lucy," he says with a conflicted sigh as he reaches for her hands. "And I'm not sure if I'm the guy for that particular job."

"I think we're on the exact same page, Logan," she tells him as she adjusts their hold and threads her fingers through his. "But what's not clear is how we decide. How do we find a solution?"

There's no real answer. They've found themselves in some sort of emotional stalemate. So, what do they always do when the problems or the emotions are too big to resolve? They seek out resolution _elsewhere_. He knows he shouldn't but he can't help leaning his forehead against hers and then slowly closing that final bit of distance until his lips are on hers.

And goddamn if that doesn't feel perfect then he has no idea what does.

Her hands release his and he fears she might literally push him away, but to his relief she wraps them around his middle and tugs him closer. He may have started this kiss but she's the one who deepens it. It's her tongue that asks for entrance _first_. She whimpers into the kiss as he opens his mouth to her and that yearning sound sparks a need for more of her. To hear more of those noises _from_ her.

He guides them toward the stairs and they manage to navigate it without losing momentum or breaking their connection. He's afraid the minute they do they'll both come to their senses and this will all stop. He knows it should stop but he doesn't actually want it to. He wants to show her that they can be different. He wants to remind her of those long lost possibilities. Maybe, like so many other things, the answer to their problem can be found in history. _Their history_. When he wanted nothing more than to be there for her.

Lucy doesn't seem to want to stop either. She kicks off her boots and then gets to work unbuttoning his shirt. Once that's pushed down his shoulders and off. He reaches for the bottom hem of her dress. He peels it off, over her head, and tosses it aside. Her hands undo his belt and his fly and before he knows it they're both in nothing more than their underwear.

He pushes her back onto their bed. He's briefly amused by the fact that this is the first time they've actually made it all the way upstairs. Her nails scrape over his chest as he settles on top of her and then one hand slips even lower under the elastic of his boxers. He feels her hand wrap around him and immediately thrusts into her hold. _Fuck_.

He could do what she wants. He could go for the obvious release, but that's not what he wants this to be. He's on a mission and she will not distract him. He grabs her wrist and pulls her hand away from him. He kisses it before releasing her hand and then attaching his lips to her neck, finding her pulse point and sucking gently. She arches underneath him as her hands roam his back. He lets his kisses drift to her collarbone, the swell of her breast as it meets the cup of her bra, the dip between those breasts. His tongue burns a trail across her stomach and she whimpers again. That's the sound he's been trying to draw out of her. He pulls at the elastic waist of her underwear and slides them down her legs. Half lidded sultry amber eyes find his as he nudges her thighs apart. He holds that stare as he kisses the inside of one thigh and then the other. Her gaze manages to stay on his until the very moment his mouth lands on her warm, wet center.

She throws her head back into the pillows and writhes underneath him while another one of those encouraging whimpers escapes her. He has to pin her hips to the mattress as she starts to buck against his mouth. Her hands dive into his hair and press him tighter against her. He feels her muscles coil all around him and hears her breathlessly moan his name.

He almost loses his self control at the sound of his name wantonly falling off her lips. Maybe she doesn't realize it, but she hasn't uttered his name during sex since that night in 1941. It's nearly enough to derail him into pushing inside of her _right_ then. But he started this to prove a point, and he plans to finish it.

He wants to be there for her again and he _can_ be. She only has to let him.

His name leaves her lips several more times before she goes rigid around him, arches so high that she nearly sits straight up, and then sags back into the mattress breathing in ragged pants. Sometime between observing Lucy satisfied and spent in their bed and her dragging his lips to hers for a needy appreciative kiss, he has a realization.

He _knows_ he can make Lucy happy. He _knows_ he can be what she needs. He's not scared of hurting her, not anymore. He wants to help her heal the way she's helped him. He wants to make this life they're living a reality.

He wants _her_.


	5. Tell the Truth

**A/N:** Finally saying I'm done with this story feels impossible. I techincally finished writing it last weekend but I've been nipping and tucking each part all week. Adding things I missed, correcting typos, awkward wording. So really, I'm just now "finishing" this story. I want to say special thanks to **TheVelvetDusk** , **katertots** , and **lauraayates** for being my sounding boards at different points during this process and each offering me ideas and feedback. I really appreciate it and honeslty I'm super needy for it. I need the validation no matter how sad that may be lol. (Same goes for reviews, btw. I'm awkward and needy and desperate for reassurance lmao. I would deny it but it's the truth so I can't.)

Thank you to those of you who have reviewed this story! You taking the time to leave me a review means the world to me and always has. For every story I've ever posted that applies. Your reviews are something I can go back and read when I'm having a down moment in one nice neat easily found place and it also gives me the added bonus of being able to interact with all of you which is my favorite! I have loved writing for this fandom from the very beginning. You are all the absolute best. Timeless fanfiction has brought me some of my best and most cherished friends. No matter what other shows I enjoy or write for this one will ALWAYS have the largest portion of my heart.

Thank you all so much for enjoying my headcanons and goofy banter and offering me a safe place to learn to write smut ;) Discovering this show and this section of FFN/Ao3 feels fated in the most beautiful way.

You are breathtakingly gorgeous readers. Thank you for all your favorites, reviews, follows, kudos, comments, and bookmarks over the last year. You have made me immeasurably happy. Hopefully the conclusion of this story will return the favor!

Happy reading!

angellwings

* * *

PART FIVE: Tell the Truth

* * *

After she repays Wyatt in kind with her own mouth, they lay side by side. Naked and fulfilled. She should be glowing. Wyatt certainly is. But all she feels is guilt. They let it happen _again_. They admitted to not being sure of what they want and then still ended up in bed together. It was phenomenal, she won't pretend otherwise, but it's also confusing.

She huffs out a frustrated breath and rolls to face him.

"We have got to stop doing this," she tells him with a pained furrow in her brow.

He rolls toward her with a playful smirk. "Yeah, no, see I was having the exact opposite thought."

Despite herself she chuckles at him. "I'm serious. Neither of us know what we want and this isn't going to help us figure it out. We can't keep distracting ourselves with sex, Wyatt. It's a temporary fix. Not a permanent solution. We have to stop. At least until we've both made some decisions. I mean this," she says as she motions between them. "Was _amazing_ , don't get me wrong, but I am no closer to figuring out what I want than I was before."

For a moment, he looks as though he wants to say something but that moment passes and he merely nods in agreement. "Right, then how do we avoid _this_? Because we seem to have a hard time with that."

She gnaws her bottom lip as she thinks. The sheet is gripped to her chest as she sits up with a sudden epiphany. "Ground rules. We need ground rules to help us establish boundaries."

He looks less than thrilled at that suggestion but sits up with her to discuss it. "Like what?"

"No sex, obviously, until we both know exactly what we want," she decrees as she holds up one finger.

"None at all?" He asks, clearly appalled by her suggestion.

His bottom lip is jutting out in an expression that mirrors Flynn's pout almost identically and she has no choice but to laugh. So, that's where she got it from.

"None at all. Can you handle that, Soldier?"

"Sex in general? Sure," he says with a shrug before a slow sinful smile stretches across his lips. "Sex with _you_? Not so much, no."

She softens a little at that admission but she will not change her mind. Not now.

"Well, too bad cause it's off the table," she insists as kindly as she can. She holds a second finger up to illustrate the next rule. "And _no kissing_ unless it's for show and, even then, we keep it tame."

"Seriously?" He asks with a huff.

She rolls her eyes at him but gives him a sympathetic grin. "Kissing is what led us _here_ right now, so yes, I'm serious. Tell me you understand why I'm asking for this? I—I want to figure this out and every time we do this I just end up more confused. I don't know if we end up here because we really want this to work or if its because we just _really_ like sex. If we take sex off the table then...maybe I can sort myself out. You know?"

He sighs in resignation and then nods with a look of genuine empathy. "I do understand, Lucy. I want you to be able to figure that out too. If this is what you need then...this is what we'll do."

"Thank you," she responds as she releases a relieved breath. It's a good choice for _both_ of them, whether he admits it or not. It will give her and Wyatt the perspective they need to finally make a decision.

The next day she has her session with Dr. Samuels. She's told her therapist as much of the truth about her and Wyatt as she can. She left out all the time travel bits but tried to include everything else. She thinks Dr. Samuels will be proud of her for trying to be so emotionally healthy but her reaction isn't quite what Lucy anticipated.

Dr. Samuels tucks a strand of blonde hair behind ear and stares at Lucy with a contemplative expression while she speaks. "It's a good decision. I agree, but...have you stopped to think about why you run to Wyatt when you don't know what to think or feel?"

"I don't know why," she answers. "That's what I'm trying to figure out."

"No, I think you know exactly why and you're scared to admit it," Samuels tells her as her lips form a stern thin line.

"I don't understand what you're implying," Lucy replies with an irritated glare.

"Before his ex-wife came back, Wyatt was a source of comfort for you, wasn't he?" She asks. "You leaned on him when you needed support and he gave it freely. Am I correct in that assessment?"

Lucy chews the inside of her cheek and nods. She's not sure what that has to do with their tendency to fall back in bed together.

"Well, isn't that what you were doing last night? Or all the times prior? Seeking comfort? Commiseration? Solace? I think this is your way of trying to get back what you once had," Dr. Samuels advises with a supportive smile and a casual lift of her shoulder. "You told me that you know you still love him but you don't know if a relationship with him is really what you want. But I think you're wrong. I think you do know what you want. You just need to take a moment and listen. Maybe these 'ground rules' will help you do that."

She leaves Dr. Samuels office more conflicted than when she went in which seems to be the opposite of what _should_ be the case.

But it turns out she doesn't have much time to contemplate her session. The girls' school calls and tells her both girls need to be picked up.

Dread pools in her gut until the second the word "lice" leaves the director's lips. So, not a crisis that requires stitches or a hospital. What a relief. She doesn't bother calling Wyatt. There's not much he can do.

Luckily, her classes are done for the day which means she's available. She researches as best she can once she has the girls in the car and stops by the drug store to buy a couple of lice shampoo kits, she buys two shower caps, one for herself and one for Wyatt, she puts hers on as soon as she gets back in the car.

Flynn has been pouting since Lucy picked them up. She's worried having lice means she'll have to cut her hair and Flynn is very attached to her hair. She was attached to other Lucy's as well and has never quite forgiven Lucy for her "haircut." Amy, on the other hand, couldn't care less. She laughs as Lucy puts on the shower cap so Lucy makes a silly face for her in the rear view mirror.

She gets the girls home and follows the steps on the kit, complete with the annoying little comb to get the stupid microscopic lice out of their hair. They have so much hair that the task takes up most of the day. Wyatt walks through the door as she's finishing Flynn's hair and the girls waste no time running to him when he announces his presence.

"We have lice!" Amy yells with a laugh. "They sent us home from school early!"

Clearly, she's willing to have lice as long as it means no school.

Wyatt looks up and she can see him chewing the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at the shower cap on Lucy's head.

"Do you have lice too?" He asks with a poorly contained grin.

"Nope," Lucy answers as she tosses him the second cap. "And I don't plan to get them either. You should put that on."

He stares at the cap skeptically before shoving it in the pocket of his trousers. "Nah, I'm good."

"Okay, but don't come crying to me when you get lice and I have to use one of those annoying combs in your hair," Lucy tells him as she grabs their box of big black trash bags from under the sink. She hands one to Amy and one to Flynn. "Go bag up all your stuffed animals and pillows right now."

They run off to do as they're told while Lucy starts bagging up the accent pillows and couch cushions.

"That's a little much for a lice outbreak, don't you think?" Wyatt asks with a quirked brow. He gives her a rakish smirk and a wink before he continues. "Not to say the shower cap isn't incredibly attractive on you."

"I'm just doing what everyone says to do. I looked it up online," Lucy replies with a shrug as she willfully ignores his flirting. "As for the shower caps, that was my own idea. I refuse to get lice. Have the girls been in our bed recently?"

"Not in the last day or so, no," Wyatt says with thoughtful narrowed eyes.

"Well, I'll just wash our sheets anyway. Can't be too careful," Lucy tells him. She stops what she's doing and puts a hand on her hip with a scolding stare. "Are you really not going to put on the shower cap?"

"I don't need it," he assures her.

She rolls her eyes at him and responds in a playful singing tone. "Okay, if you say so."

"I'll look stupid in a shower cap," he insists. "I'm not doing it."

"And people say women are vain," she says through a laugh. "Clearly those people have never met Wyatt 'Life is a Photo Shoot' Logan, who's chiseled jaw and perfect blue eyes are just too damn pretty for a shower cap."

His brows fly upward and a crooked grin forms on his lips as he meets her eyes. "You really think my jaw is chiseled?"

She pulls one of the pillows out of the bag and throws it at his smug face with a laugh. "You realize I was making fun of you, don't you?"

"All I heard were compliments. I don't know what you're talking about," he says as he blocks the second pillow she launches at him.

Lucy's diligence makes sure the girls are lice free with in two days. Just when she thinks the outbreak is over she notices Wyatt scratching his head a little too much. He tries to be discreet about it but she notices. She ignores it and hopes she's making a mountain out of a molehill. She does a pretty good job of ignoring it too until Wyatt walks up to her in their bedroom that night with a sheepish grin and a guilt ridden glance.

"You, uh, wouldn't happen to have any of that lice shampoo left, would you?" He asks reluctantly.

She hits him with a pillow so fast and hard he nearly falls over. He holds up his hands defensively and tries to give her his most disarming smile, meant to get him out of trouble. It won't work. Not this time. Not with her.

"You just couldn't wear the shower cap, could you? No, your stupid man pride got in the way," she says with a roll of her eyes as she points to their bathroom door. "Go."

She spends the rest of the night combing through his hair, washing their sheets, and bagging up their pillows.

"You're worse than the girls sometimes, you know that?" She asks him with a halfhearted glare as they finally crawl into bed.

"Well, yeah, but you like me anyway because I have a chiseled jaw and perfect blue eyes or am I misquoting you?" He says with a teasing smile.

"I'd smother you with a pillow if I didn't need you to do the cooking and the yard work. Chiseled jaw and perfect blue eyes be damned," she deadpans.

He laughs in her face and catches her hand mid swing as she tries to smack him. "Hey, watch the chiseled jaw."

"Oh my god, are you ever going to let that go?"

"Probably not, no."

"I want a divorce."

"From this chiseled jaw? I don't believe you."

"Say chiseled jaw one more time. I dare you."

"It's just an incredibly specific comment to make, Lucy," he says as he turns a smug grin on her. "Have you been studying my chiseled jaw for long or—"

"You know I take it back," she says as she grabs her pillow from underneath her and sits up. "I think the girls and I can live off of take out and I bet the neighbor kid will mow the lawn for cheap." She lunges for him with the pillow in hand but, even after five years of training with him, his reflexes are still faster than hers.

He rolls her underneath him and snatches the pillow from her grasp. "Nice try, Preston. But I'm not that easy to kill."

She's laughing at his goofy playful grin and wondering when or if they've ever been like this. Light and flirty and _fun._ They're laying nose to nose with most of his weight pressed into her. So much so that she can feel the vibration of his laughter when he joins in. The moment quickly becomes charged with tension and the ache of that something Lucy feels like she's missing lessens.

She doesn't know what she expects. She's made it clear to him that they shouldn't do _this_ anymore, but she still doesn't expect all levity to drain from his face nor for him to quickly roll off of her with a hurried "good night." His lamp clicks off as he turns his back to her and that's the end of _that_.

"Good night," she says with a sigh as she mimics his position and turns off her own lamp. She probably deserved that. He was only following _her_ rules after all.

They survive the lice and the awkwardness between her and Wyatt. He acts like their moment never happened and that's acceptable to her because she doesn't want to acknowledge it either. Especially, since her sessions with Dr. Samuels continually circle back to Wyatt. She insists that Lucy tell him that she's not entirely happy with their "ground rules" but Lucy refuses. The rules were her idea. She can't just take them back. Not until she knows what she wants.

And despite her confusing reaction to him turning away from her the other night, she still isn't sure what that is. However, she's interrupted while dissecting those feelings by yet _another_ call from the school.

Do other parents talk to their children's teachers as much as she's been talking to hers? Is this what life with kids is like? Are your plans _always_ at the total mercy of their health and well-being? It would seem so.

 _Today_ , the girls are complaining of stomach aches.

Her girls have not yet learned to play hooky so if they're complaining then they must actually be sick. Today is a day where she has no classes but takes student meetings in her office. She cancels her remaining appointments and heads straight to the school.

When she arrives, she's told the girls have already gotten physically ill at least once, and as she loads them in the car she notices they feel a bit feverish. She calls the pediatrician and takes the girls in for a visit. They had a check up last month which thankfully came with a reminder call so Lucy didn't have to go on a mad hunt around the house for the doctor's name.

It's decided that it's nothing serious. Just a bug that should be out of their system in 24 or 48 hours. They need to rest and stay hydrated. She takes them home and tucks them in bed with little waste bins beside them and cool rags on their heads. They look appropriately helpless and her heart lurches every time they groan or cry from discomfort. She calls Wyatt to let him know since it was his day to pick the girls up from school.

"Are they okay?" He asks. She hears the same level of concern she feels and smiles warmly into the phone.

"As okay as they can be with fevers and stomach aches," Lucy says with a worried sigh.

"Do they need anything? I've got lunch coming up. I can go by the store and bring it to you," he offers.

He sounds eager to come home and she wonders if the store is just an excuse to see them.

"No, we're okay. They just need lots of liquids and lots of rest," she answers.

There's silence and then...

"I think I'll swing by anyway."

She bites back an affectionate chuckle. She knew it.

"Okay," she answers, desperately trying not to sound amused.

"I can stop and get lunch for us on the way. Anything you're in the mood for?"

Suddenly, she's in the mood for one concerned father named Wyatt Logan and not much else. She stifles that answer long before it can touch her lips. She can't have _that_ particular dish until she sorts herself out.

"Whatever you want is fine. Surprise me," she says with a shrug, despite the fact that she knows he can't see it.

Surprise her, he does. With Thai food. Her favorite. And something she hasn't had a chance to indulge in since they landed in this timeline. Not just Thai food but the dish she used to get back before they had to go into hiding.

"How the hell did you remember I like this?" She asks as she stares down at the take out container in shock.

He smiles softly at her with a careless tilt of his head. "If I can retain four languages then I think I can retain your standard Thai order," he replies with a chuckle before he points up the stairs to the girls' room. "I'm going to go check on them."

He comes back down a few minutes later, after she's sorted the food, and sits down across from her with a tortured expression. She manages to contain a fond smile as she digs in to her meal, but she feels that same fondness bloom in her chest anyway.

If she wasn't already in love with him then seeing the way he loves the twins would do it.

That sudden thought startles her. She knows she still loves him. She's never questioned that, but she's never allowed herself to think it so casually either. Is something changing? Is some subconscious part of her recognizing something she hasn't yet? Maybe it's her latest sessions with Dr. Samuels? Did they shake something loose, after all?

"Maybe I should stay too," Wyatt says with a preoccupied stare out of the kitchen entryway and toward the stairs.

She reaches across the table and squeezes his hand. She waits until he turns his attention back to her before she even tries to address him. It takes him a prolonged moment to look away from the stairs and the hallway, as if he's afraid he'll miss something urgent the moment he does. God, _this man_. Could he be any more endearing? She meets his eyes intently as she speaks.

"They're okay, Wyatt. I can handle it. We shouldn't both take off work. I promise I will let you hover over them as soon as you get home from work tonight," she tells him as a teasing smirk forms on her lips.

"I don't hover," he says as he gives her an offended glance.

"You do," she insists. "Like a helicopter. Aside from my panic attack, I couldn't prise you away from Flynn for a full twenty four hours after her stitches and I honestly thought I would never get a moment alone with them again in the days after the grocery store incident. I mean it's sweet, but it's for sure hovering."

"Yeah, well, at least I don't obsessively ask them how they're doing," he says as he playfully nudges her foot under the table. He imitates her in a high pitched prim voice. "You okay, baby? You sure you're okay? How're you feeling, baby?"

She balls up a napkin and tosses it at him as she laughs. He dodges it easily.

"I do _not_ sound like that," she protests through a glare and a chuckle.

"Yeah, you do," he disagrees with a soft laugh.

The rest of lunch is hectic with the girls needing one of them every few minutes. Finally, Wyatt manages to force himself away from the girls and go back to work, leaving his lunch half eaten. She gives up as well and puts the food away. With the girls sick she doubts Wyatt will cook so they'll probably eat the leftovers for dinner.

She doesn't have a moment of a her own the rest of the day. Amy ends up getting sick all over herself and her bed. Lucy cleans her up and puts her in bed with Flynn while she cleans up the room. It's disgusting and difficult, thanks to the old carpet in the girls' room. But she miraculously manages it. She also manages to heat broth on the stove without incident so the girls get something on their stomachs besides saltines. She knows she probably smells like cleaning products and looks like a disaster. She could use a long hot bath but leaving the girls long enough to take even a short short shower is out of the question. Suffice it to say, taking care of the twins is not the most glamorous of tasks, but easing their discomfort makes it worth it.

She's in Flynn's tiny bed with both girls when Wyatt gets home. Amy's soiled sheets are still soaking so her bed is bare. She has Amy cuddled in her lap and Flynn tucked into her side. Both finally sleeping. She's sure her hair looks like a wild mess, her makeup is melting, and her clothes are rumpled but when Wyatt leans against the open door frame and smiles adoringly at her she at least _feels_ beautiful, even if she knows she isn't. It's an interesting phenomenon that has never happened with anyone else and she wonders why it happens with him.

He comes to the side of the bed and gently lifts Amy from her lap, cradling her against his chest. There's a kiss pressed to the top of Lucy's head that briefly causes a stutter in her heartbeat before he murmurs against her hair.

"My turn to be the lookout, Professor. I left dinner in the kitchen."

He carefully takes her place next to Flynn and settles back against the narrow headboard. She leaves reluctantly and looks over her shoulder as she reaches the door. Wyatt is running one hand through Amy's hair and rubbing Flynn's back with the other one. His cheek rests against the top of Amy's head as his eyes close. He hasn't even changed from work and it doesn't seem like he intends to.

He looks much too good to her as a loving father and her stomach flutters as she pauses to watch him for a moment. He loves those girls. He loves this life they have. But does he love her? Does he really want to spend the rest of his life by her side? They've been stuck together for so long that she's no longer certain if he would actually _choose_ her.

There's another question lingering behind that one. One that he can't answer. It's one she needs to figure out for herself.

It's the question of whether or not she wants him to choose her. Does _she_ want a life with _him_? She did, once upon a time. She wanted it with everything she had. Sometimes, like now, she thinks she still does. Mostly, though, she wishes she were sure one way or the other or that she had the guts to say all of this outloud. But she doesn't. At least not _yet_.

True to his word, Wyatt stays by the girls' side all night long. It gives her plenty of time to actually eat something, shower, and change into a pair of soft sweats and a worn out t-shirt. The shirt is likely one of his, considering it's among her things but she's never seen it before and she definitely didn't take physical education at the high school named on it.

She's more exhausted than she anticipated. It's true she ran around the house for the girls a lot and shuttling them from school to the doctor was a bit stressful, but she didn't expect to feel quite as run down as she does. She means to lay down for a moment or two, a quick nap. She doesn't even bother to get under the covers. She needs to clean the dishes in the kitchen and put up the Italian take out Wyatt brought home. They're going to have so many leftovers in their fridge if the girls' continue to be sick. She's hoping the doctor was right and she'll wake up in the morning to perfectly healthy four year olds.

At some point while thinking through her to-do list and hoping the girls' feel better after a good night's sleep, she falls asleep herself.

When she wakes up, who knows how long later, the bedroom is pitch black, someone has tucked her neatly under the sheets, and there's a suspicious churning in her stomach. She feels burning bile rising in her throat and scrambles out of bed.

 _Oh no. Shit._

She barely makes it to the toilet as the Italian food that Wyatt so thoughtfully brought home is pulled up and out of her body. There's a brief reprieve before it's happening again. It takes her by total surprise. She's honestly shocked there's anything left on her stomach at all. She must have made some sort of pathetic noise because suddenly Wyatt is behind her.

"Jesus, Lucy," he curses. He grabs one of her hair ties off the bathroom counter and pulls her hair back into a short ponytail. His hand rubs small circles on her back while he places the other on her forehead. "You're burning up."

Oh, is that what that cold sweat is all over her body? Makes sense. It also explains the bothersome pounding between her temples and the soreness in her joints. He leaves her briefly to grab a washcloth and wet it in cool water. When he comes back he holds the cloth on the back of her neck and it's _heavenly_ relief.

"Anything left to heave?" He asks her with a soft playful smile.

"Hard to say, really," she croaks out as she presses a hand to her forehead. "Fuck, I think I need to brush about twenty times at least."

He chuckles and kisses her temple as he removes the rag from her neck. "Think you can stand, Sick-o?"

"I threw up, Wyatt. I'm not an invalid," she snaps with a thick swallow.

He gives her a disbelieving look and she doesn't blame him for it one bit. She barely believes it herself. In spite of her snapping at him, he holds her around the waist as she pushes off the floor. She wobbles briefly before grabbing onto the bathroom counter with a vice-like grip and pointedly pushes his arms away from her.

"See?" She tells him through gritted teeth, despite her knees threatening to give out. "I'm fine."

"Uh huh," he says flatly with a quirked brow. "You're the picture of health."

She reaches for her toothbrush and the toothpaste slower than she ever thought possible. Honestly, she feels like one of those slow motion replays. "The kitchen still needs to be cleaned up and then the girls' bathroom is a mess—"

"The kitchen is done and I can handle the bathroom. You need to rest. I think their bug found a new host," he says as his analytical gaze drifts up and down the length of her.

Normally, a sweeping look like that would leave her feeling a bit hot and bothered but, unfortunately, she's already both of those things for much less enjoyable reasons. She huffs irritably before brushing her teeth, at least three times. Wyatt stays put right next to her, like a sentry on watch. She wants to be annoyed, but she can't seem to muster up the energy. She actually thinks she secretly loves it. He's watching over her just as intently as he did the girls earlier that night. He's hovering. The very thing he claimed to not do during lunch. Ugh, lunch. A hand drifts to her stomach and she decides thinking about feed is not the best course of action at that particular moment.

"How's your stomach?" he asks when she finishes and he notices the hand she rested against it.

"Oh, just peachy, thanks," she answers sarcastically.

He rolls his eyes and gives her a strained but patient smile. "Alright, smartass, let me clarify. Do I need to leave a trash can by the bed once you lay back down?"

Her stomach rolls again and her shoulders slump forward in response. Answering him truthfully feels like admitting defeat. "Probably, yes."

He grabs the small trash can from beside the toilet and then slips his other arm around her waist. "Come on, Germy, let's get you back to bed. I'll bring you Tylenol and water. Probably, some dry toast. You should put something back on your stomach."

"Why?" She asks with a huff. "It'll just end up in that trashcan you're carrying."

"You're going to be a piss poor patient, aren't you?"

She grunts in response and fights her independent nature in order to lean into him as they walk. Everything in her is screaming to walk herself to bed, but the logical part of her brain knows she'll likely fall as soon as he lets her go. He sets the trashcan down and then pulls back the covers for her. When she climbs in, he tucks the covers around her, and she realizes that he must have been the one to tuck her in earlier too. He returns to the bathroom and brings her the rag he previously discarded.

His calloused fingers tenderly move wavy loose hairs off of her forehead before he places the rag on her skin. She hears herself sigh in contented relief before she can manage to swallow it back. Again, it left her feeling as if she were conceding the battle. Letting him take care of her is like waving a white flag of surrender.

He leans down with a soft laugh and she feels a kiss to the crown of her head. "Yeah, you're not sick at all."

"Shut up, Logan," she tells him as she meets his eyes with reluctant embarassiment.

"Nice to know the sickness hasn't dulled the bossiness," he remarks as his eyes widen pointedly and he shakes his head in frustrated amusement. "This is gonna be a fun 24 to 48 hours for me. I can tell."

She smiles gently to herself as he turns his back on her. If she has to be sick, she's glad he's the one taking care of her. Doesn't mean she'll take it easy on him, but she appreciates him nonetheless.

A few minutes later, he brings her Tylenol, dry toast, and a bottle of water and he sits beside of her on the bed to make sure she actually eats. She grumbles while she does it but it turns out he's right. She did need something on her stomach and it surprisingly settles the constant curdled feeling for a while. He doesn't leave while she waits for the Tylenol to take effect. She finds herself drifting toward him and resting her weight against his side. His arm goes behind her and his hand trails a repetitive line up her spine and then into her hair where he kneads the muscles at the base of her skull. Her head lands on his shoulder and her eyes flutter closed.

It's the most she's let herself rely on him since all of this started. She's almost ashamed of how light letting him take care of her makes her feel. She realizes that she trusts him completely. Where there were trust issues a month ago she finds none now. They've been through hell and back together. Maybe he broke her heart once, but astonishingly she trusts him not to do it again. She's seen his guilt. She's witnessed exactly how deeply it cuts him. He wants to be a part of her life. He wants to be there for her again.

It takes a feverish haze to make her see it, but in that moment she knows the answer to the question she asked herself earlier. She knows as steadily as she knows the beat of her own heart.

She wants him. She wants this life with him. She _wants_ to choose him and she wants _him_ to choose her too.

Tears build in her eyes as the epiphany falls over her and she quickly hides her face in his shoulder. It's embarrassing that it took her this long to see it and she wonders if he's come to the same conclusion. She should bring it up, but she's not sure how. She's too tired and sick to puzzle it out right then. She promises herself to deal with it later. His hand in her hair and his presence next to her in bed forces sleep to creep up on her unexpectedly.

She falls asleep with hope in her heart that wasn't there before. Hope that one day this will all be real and irreversibly hers. Hope that if she waits long enough he'll decide he wants her too.

She can wait for that day. She can stick to the rules until he knows what he wants.

Because now she understands her own truth. She still wants him and always has. She's only ever truly loved Wyatt and there is no chance she will ever love anyone else.

He's not _a choice_. He's the _only choice_. _Her choice._ Now, she just needs him to clue her in on _his_ choice. Whenever or whatever that may be.

* * *

The girls are all better the next morning but Lucy is miserable. Wyatt calls out of work, takes the girls to school, and then returns home to take care of Lucy. She's a lousy patient but having dealt with her attitude for years now, he's adequately prepared for anything she might throw at him — literally and figuratively.

He keeps up with his work emails on the tablet they assigned him for instances just like this, and nearly groans out loud as one particular email comes through. He hates work functions and does his best to avoid them, but this one will be unavoidable.

Denise is hosting a retirement party for her boss. Effectively, his boss's boss. Without _one_ of those things he stood a chance of avoiding it, but put them both together and this event goes from optional to an obligation. It doesn't help that he receives a second forwarded email from Denise demanding not only his presence but Lucy's and the girls' as well.

It's in two days which means Lucy will hopefully be recovered by then. He has no excuse not to go. So, he's stuck.

Lucy wakes in time for a lunch of broth and tea. He brings it to her on a tray and then sinks into the bed beside of her.

"Denise's boss is retiring," he says with an agonizing sigh.

Lucy gives him a knowing glance and lets out an adorable amused snort. "And let me guess, there's a party?"

"At her house, in two days."

"And Denise expects us there which you obviously resent immensely," she says with a grin. "Am I right?"

Even with her feverish face, she looks much too pleased with herself. He wishes he could prove her wrong, but he can't.

"Right on the money," he admits with a wince. "She's already sent me a reminder that my presence is required."

She chuckles weakly as she sips her tea and then shrugs. "Okay, so we'll go. It can't be that bad. Boring, maybe. But not _awful_. This is what I've learned with work parties, all you have to do is show up and make the rounds and once that's done no one really cares how long you stay."

He nods and smiles gratefully at her. Thank god she's brilliant. "Oh, I like that. So, what? We get in, make a lap, and get out?"

"By George, I think you've got it," she tells him as she settles back into her pillows. "You know, you really didn't have to stay home today."

"Yes, I did," he insists. "Besides, I wanted to. You can't take care of everyone else and not expect anyone to reciprocate, Luce."

The nickname slips out accidentally. He's called her that maybe once or twice before. Both times were when they were on the edge of something infinitely more than what they are now. But she doesn't call him out on it. She doesn't react at all, really. Though, she might be blushing. It's hard to tell through the fever.

"Well, thank you," she says quietly. "I haven't had anyone take care of me in a very long time. I appreciate it. Even if I'm grumpy as hell most of the time."

That confession from her causes his chest to ache. He's guilty of that. He's one of those people who hasn't taken care of her. But no more. He won't be a part of that any longer. Whether they stay together or not, he'll be there for her when she needs him. Every time. No questions asked.

"Anytime, ma'am," he tells her as he meets her eyes with a delicately devoted smile. "Whatever you need. I'm right here and there's no other place I'd rather be."

She doesn't reply. She merely nods and goes back to her tea, but he sees the upturned corners of her mouth and the glassy shine of her eyes. He knows he's made her happy. The idea that he's said something that means _anything_ to her heals a small portion of his guilt.

This is what he wants for the rest of his life. He wants more time with her to mend their wounds. He wants to show her that he can be the man she originally thought he was. He wants to love her, now and forever.

He just needs to make sure she's as confident in that fact as he is.

Two days later, Lucy is eating solid food and has a normal body temperature again. She's dressed and ready to go after being forced to change outfits at least twice due to seemingly impossible back to back coffee spills and frantically searching the house for Amy's red boots. Amy is near tears and refuses to move from the couch unless they find them. Flynn is irritated and glaring at her sister with her arms crossed over her chest. Mark and Olivia will be at Denise's and Flynn has been looking forward to seeing them at this party all week. Amy is the only thing keeping Flynn away from them.

Wyatt finally locates the boots under the couch, where they were likely kicked after Amy got home from school that afternoon. She slips them on and then they're off to Denise and Michelle's for this dreaded work party that Wyatt didn't want to go to in the first place.

They're very late which, fortunately, means they're only going to have an hour to make the rounds with Wyatt's coworkers. They're rushing up Denise's front steps when the door opens in anticipation of their approach.

"There you are!" Denise says brightly. "I was getting worried."

"Amy couldn't find her boots," Flynn replies with a roll of her eyes. "And she wouldn't wear any other shoes."

"Daddy gave me these!" Amy yells with a pout. "They're my special boots!"

Lucy sighs tiredly and crouches down to be eye level with both girls. "It's alright," she tells them. "We're here now. Let's all just let it go, okay?"

"The other kids are in the backyard," Denise tells them with a wink. "Go on, go play."

Both girls hug Lucy and then race off toward the back door.

"Rough day?" Denise asks them with a sympathetic smile.

"Let's just say they got their stubbornness from _him_ ," Lucy tells Denise with a chuckle as she points to Wyatt.

"Last I checked Amy is the bossy one and we both know who gave her that particular quality. Hint: it wasn't me," Wyatt replies with a dry grin.

They step inside the house and as Denise closes the door she turns to them with an overly friendly smile. Wyatt knows that face. That's the face she gives him when she hands him an assignment she knows he'll hate.

"Uh oh," Wyatt says as he nudges Lucy with his shoulder. "She's got that face."

"What face?" Denise asks.

"The one that means you're about to ask us to do something you think we won't want to do," Wyatt answers.

"I don't like that you know me so well," Denise tells him with a huff.

Lucy chuckles at them as Wyatt helps her with her coat and drapes it over his arm.

"What's up?" She asks curiously.

"Well, Michelle and I were supposed to take a trip this weekend. We have this all inclusive weekend at this beautiful resort in Hawaii. We were going to fly down Thursday and then back on Monday since it's a holiday weekend, but now we can't go," Denise tells them as she takes Lucy's coat from Wyatt and hangs it in the hall closet.

Lucy's face lights up at the description of their weekend then falls in disappointment when Denise reveals they can't go. "Oh no, what happened?"

"Michelle's mother has decided to come into town suddenly," Denise says with a shake of her head. "That crazy old bat is hard enough to deal with when we're on good terms. I really don't want to face her after we've ditched her for a weekend in a tropical paradise. She would be insufferable."

Wyatt laughs lightly. "Come on, she can't be _that_ awful. You can't just explain it to her and ask her to come another time?"

"No, no. She'll think we're trying to avoid her. Trust me," Denise replies with a roll of her eyes. "I only bring it up to say, the trip is non refundable but we can transfer it to someone else. And the only other couple we know as deserving of a vacation as we are is you two."

"You want us to take your vacation?" Lucy asks with raised brows.

"If you don't then we lose everything we put down on it," Denise tells her with a pleading expression. "It's a resort right on the beach. All the meals are included. The rooms are beautiful. Very romantic."

Romantic. The last time they'd been romantic, they decided it wasn't fair for either of them as long as they didn't know what they wanted. Wyatt knows what he wants, but he doesn't really know where Lucy is with that decision. Or if there is even a decision for her to make.

"There's not anyone else you could ask?" Wyatt says as he glances between Denise and Lucy. He saw Lucy's face when Denise first brought it up. She liked the idea of a weekend in Hawaii. She looked tempted.

"Well, Rufus and Jiya, but they don't do tropical vacations," Denise answers with a shake of her head. "Something about Rufus having a fear of fish? Honestly, I didn't ask too many questions once they said that."

Lucy laughs brightly at the mention of the former Lifeboat pilot. "Oh, Rufus. Why am I not surprised?"

"They did say they would stay at your house with the girls if you wanted to go, though. So, see? We've got all the bases covered. There's no reason not to go," Denise tells them with an encouraging smile. "A few days in the sun and sand, a little break from work. It might be good for both of you."

Lucy bites her bottom lip and then gives him a hopeful glance. "I was going to cancel my Thursday class anyway to give my students more time on their papers and I don't have class on Fridays. I could make it work."

"You really want to do this?" Wyatt asks her with a surprised grin. "You want to go away to Hawaii with me?"

"I've never been," she says with a pleading smile. "Besides, we can't let Denise and Michelle's money go to waste. This way we can go and then pay them back."

It's a logical response, he'll give her that, and it fits with Lucy's need to make sure her friends are happy. She would do or give up anything to guarantee that the people she cares about are happy. Luckily, it's not much of a sacrifice this time and, after the last five years they've lived through, he feels like they deserve this. Romantic or not.

"Well, now I guess I just need to ask my boss if I can have the time off," Wyatt says with a fond smile before he turns a pointed glance on Denise. "What do you say, boss?"

"I think we can spare you for a few days," Denise responds with a chuckle.

Lucy lets out a soft excited squeal and impulsively wraps her arms around him. He wastes no time returning it. The fact that she's giving out her signature hugs again, especially to him, feels just one step shy of a miracle. There were times he doubted he would ever see this Lucy again. He's relieved to be wrong.

"Oh my god. We're going to Hawaii." Her beaming face falls a moment later as she pulls away from the embrace. "I need new clothes."

"You have a whole walk in closet at the house," Wyatt says he gives her a perplexed glance with an amused grin. "You can't possibly need any more clothes."

"No," Denise tells him seriously as she places a hand on his arm. "She does. Trust me."

That week is a whirlwind of preparations. Packing their own clothes, making sure Rufus and Jiya have everything they need for the girls, leaving notes and schedules so the girls don't miss anything. It goes by fast and before too long their plane is touching down and they're being shuttled from the airport to the resort.

As soon as they check in, they're lead to their room and that's when Wyatt starts to suspect Denise didn't tell them the whole story. The girl at check in wished them congratulations, as did the bellhop who handled their bags, and then inside their room is a gift basket and balloons along with a room service cart with strawberries and champagne. It has the feeling of a special event and not a trip for the sake of a trip. There is definitely something bigger going on here.

He gives the kid a tip as Lucy is pulling the card out of the gift basket and reading it with a confused expression. When she's done, she laughs and then hands him the card.

"We got played," she says through a chuckle as she picks up a strawberry off of the cart.

"What?" Wyatt asks. "What do you mean?"

Lucy bites into the strawberry and chews while she waits for him to read the card. When he finishes reading he looks up at her in disbelief.

She grins at his surprised face and then laughs again. "Happy anniversary, _honey_."

"This is an anniversary present?" He asks in a befuddled tone as he sticks the card back in the basket. "Our friends gave us a weekend trip to _Hawaii_ for our anniversary? Also, how did we not know it was our _anniversary_?"

"Because we weren't at the wedding," Lucy answers, barely managing to withhold more laugher. As soon as the last word is out of her mouth, a blast of a laugh escapes her and grows into a delightful rolling guffaw. She falls back onto the king sized bed and brings her hands to her face as she loses control.

A smile blooms on his face and then a minute later he's laughing with her. Uninhibited, gasping laughter. This is another one of those things that could only happen to them. Their friends were able to surprise them with an anniversary trip because they had no idea it was their anniversary. That would never happen to a normal couple. At least one of them would remember. There's also the added amazement that they're laughing at all. Just over a month ago the idea of laughing like this wouldn't have been plausible. But now they seem to be healing, individually and as a team. He never would have guessed they would end up alone together on a voluntary romantic vacation. He sits down on the bed next to her as their laughter subsides.

"Well," Wyatt says with a wide smile and disbelieving a shake of his head. "Happy four year anniversary, Professor."

"It's been a wonderful four years that I do not remember at all," she replies through another small peel of laughter as she sits up and faces him.

They're closer than he anticipates when she sits up. There's barely an inch of space between their faces and he's tempted to close it so he can place a kiss to her laughing lips. His eyes drift to her smile and she catches him mid glance.

"Wyatt," she says with a playful grin. "I see you."

"Not my fault you have very kissable lips, ma'am," he tells her with an unashamed smirk.

"We agreed that we wouldn't—"

"I know," he says with a sigh. "I remember." His smirk grows into a full wolffish smile as he continues. "But you can't blame a guy for trying. Especially on his wedding anniversary."

"No, I guess you can't," she agrees with a chuckle.

"So, now what?" Wyatt asks as he glances around the room. "What do we do?"

"Whatever we want," she replies.

He lifts one eyebrow and suggestively glances between her and the bed.

She rolls her eyes and swats at his arm teasingly. "Except _that_."

"Fine," he says as he flops back on the bed. "I guess I could teach you how to surf. If you want."

Her eyes go wide and she gives him an eager smile. "Really? I mean, you'd do that? I can't promise I won't look like an idiot while trying it."

"Lucy, I trained you to fight. If I can survive _that_ then I think I can teach you to surf," he replies with a wink as he straightens up to a sitting position again.

She laughs and kicks him lightly. "God, you are just full of jokes today."

"I'm alone with you, surrounded by blue water and clear skies. I'm in a good mood and for good reason," he admits as he laces his fingers through hers. He brings the back of her hand to his lips and then squeezes. "We're here to have fun, so let's go have fun."

They change clothes and head to the beach. Wyatt didn't realize that when Lucy said she needed new clothes, she meant new swimsuits. He definitely isn't complaining about all those shopping bags _now_. They spend the day laughing and flirting and feeling completely at ease with each other. Lucy manages to catch a few waves on her own while learning to surf and they celebrate with a drink at the pool bar. Lucy is radiant and happy and absolutely gorgeous.

They've set their ground rules for their relationship and he hates them, but he especially hates them here and _now_. He's had so many opportunities to kiss her that he's given up for the sake of their boundaries. Boundaries he doesn't really want to begin with. But until Lucy indicates otherwise, he's determined to respect them. He loves her. He knows he does. He wants her and only her for the rest of his life but she has to want him too. The first move that's made needs to be hers.

So, now he's waiting her out.

They go to dinner and spend most of it discussing the girls. They're laughing over Flynn's latest daredevil stunt, that resulted in her foot caught between tree limbs in Denise's backyard and Amy's serious face as she tells her twin "The foot will have to go", when Lucy pulls out her purse to look for cash for a tip and freezes.

"Luce?" He asks as he places his hand on top of hers as it rests on the table. "You okay?"

"I forgot I had this," she says softly as she places a folded piece of paper on the table. "I thought I tossed it."

"What is it?" He asks he picks it up.

"A letter from Ben Cahill," she answers with a stormy expression. "It came yesterday. I must have shredded the envelope instead of the letter."

Wyatt's hand tenses around the paper as he scans the page. It's harmless overall. He tells her he's been watching her career and reading her books. He says he's proud of her. It's the last two sentences that explain Lucy's thunderous silence. He asks if she'll come visit him and then says he would love to learn all about his granddaughters. He's sure they're bright and sensitive just like her. She's probably asking herself the same question Wyatt's thinking.

How the hell does Cahill know about the twins?

"Why didn't you tell me about this?" Wyatt asks worriedly.

"I meant to," she assures him. "I promise I meant to." She squeezes his hand and makes sure to catch his gaze with hers. "I wasn't hiding it from you, Wyatt. I swear." He believes her and nods for her to continue. She does. "We were getting ready for the trip and getting the girls ready for the weekend without us. I read it through once yesterday and then the girls started fighting over the remote again and I got distracted. That's probably how it ended up in my purse instead of the shred bin."

He's silent a moment as he takes that in. He analyzes her tone for any indication of a lie. He's gotten good at spotting when she's lying over the years. He sees no trace of that here. She intended to tell him and genuinely forgot. In a way, it's encouraging. Spending time with him and the girls eased her fears to the point that they were secondary. She was only remembering now because she was confronted with it during a quiet moment. He couldn't let their fear ruin this _now_.

"You know he can't get to them, right?" Wyatt asks as he continues to hold her hand in his and then laces their fingers together.

"But how does he even know they exist, Wyatt?" Lucy asks him as she worries her bottom lip. "I certainly haven't told him about them so how could he know?"

He tries to think back to all the people they've interacted with recently. None of them have any connection to Cahill. The only person with questionable connections would be that journalism student that interviewed them at the faculty New Years Eve party. The kid cornered them with questions for a profile on Lucy—

"Stanford's website," Wyatt tells her with a sigh of relief when the answer comes to him. "The profile on you for Stanford's website. The student mentioned that you were a mother in it, didn't she?"

The storm clouds clear as she expels a tense breath and nods. "Yes! She did. She left out their names but she did say I had twin daughters."

"He says here that he's been keeping up with your career," Wyatt says as he gestures to the letter. "He must have read the profile."

"Must have," she replies. But she doesn't look convinced.

They go back to the room and get ready for bed. They had a good day but that letter from Cahill seems to have a put a damper on it. He wishes he could have intercepted it before it ever reached Lucy. He knows she struggles with the idea of Rittenhouse being really and truly gone. He does too. The letter only adds to that struggle.

She falls asleep with her back to him and he wants to reach for her but he doesn't. She's been working on being more upfront with him. She doesn't say it but he can tell she's been putting in a real effort to include him more. This is one of those times where he needs to trust her to come to him when she's ready. So he rolls over and closes his eyes. Maybe she'll talk to him about it in the morning.

He hopes.

But sleep doesn't come for him. Lucy falls asleep. He hears her deep breaths behind him. But he can't relax. He hates feeling helpless. The idea that he has to let her struggle with something on her own kills him. He's always been a protector, a caretaker. Right now he can't do either.

Not even a vacation in paradise can fix that.

According to the alarm clock on the nightstand, an hour passes before a pained whimper pierces the darkness between them. His chest tightens and he jerks upright, immediately alert to the sound of distress.

His head turns to his left. He sees the back of Lucy's head and the outline of her scrunched shoulders under the blankets. He stays quiet and observes her in the darkness, tuning his ears to the sounds of her shallow breathing.

Something is definitely wrong.

He hears a sob and then a gasping breath that sounds almost like a hoarse scream. She rolls onto her back and the light from the cracked bathroom door illuminates her wet cheeks. _Tears_.

He breaks his promise to himself and reaches for her, but he should have known better than to surprise Lucy in the dark. In the flash of a second it took to reach for her, she's rolled onto him, her hips pinning him solidly to the mattress, and has gotten a firm choking grip around his throat. Her eyes land on his and he watches as her surroundings come into focus and her awareness returns. Her hands snap back away from his throat, as if she's been burned, and she crawls off of him. She retreats to the far corner of the bed with her knees tucked against her chest.

"Sorry," she whispers just before another sob rips through the air around them. "Oh God, I'm so sorry."

There's no reason to apologize. He awoke exactly the same way a few weeks ago, didn't he? She didn't hold that against him. In fact, she was his lifeline. So, why would he hold this against _her_?

"No apology required, ma'am," he replies with an emotional gulp. She sounds shattered and he hates it. "Are you okay?"

"Yes." She stops and then. "No."

"Which answer is it, Lucy?" He asks softly. "Yes or no?"

She runs a hand through her messy waves and then her impassive expression crumbles into a quivering chin and a turbulently shaking head. "No," she repeats a second before her tears begin to flow and her hands fly up to cover her face.

He stretches across the mattress. His hands encircle her ankles to drag her over the rumpled sheets until he can wrap his arms around her waist. He tucks her into him and holds her solidly against his chest.

"What happened?" He asks as he automatically drops a kiss to the top of her head. If he had time he would marvel at how quickly he's fallen back into easy affection with her, but he doesn't so he won't. "Did you have a dream?"

They've been sharing a bed long enough now for him to know she sometimes suffers from a recurring dream about her accident. But she's never reacted like _this_. For those dreams, she barely lets him know she's awake. If he wasn't so acutely attuned into her pain then he probably would never notice. But that dream is clearly _not_ this dream. This reaction is visceral and rough. It has shaken her to her very core. The dreams of her accident never do that.

Her hands are still covering her face as she nods, a halting second later.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asks.

"No," is her muffled reply, but after a quiet pause her hands come down and she gulps loudly. "But Dr. Samuels would say I should."

He grins a little at that. So therapy is doing them both good it seems. He never should have questioned Denise when she suggested it. She was right.

"Are we...are we sure Rittenhouse is gone?" She asks in a weak voice.

"Yes," he replies quickly. "We're sure."

"But we've thought that before, right? And—and then they blew up Mason's hangar. Are we sure there's no risk to the girls? Are we _positive_ , Wyatt?"

"Lucy, what did you dream?" He asks as he forces away the worry her question awakens in his chest. He knows these questions are a result of that letter from Cahill and, not for the first time, Wyatt wishes he could have a little _talk_ with the man. He's more trouble than he's worth.

Her watery eyes hesitantly find his as she says, "I...I keep thinking about Flynn. _Garcia_ Flynn."

She halts as if she's waiting for him to react badly, but he's been attending therapy sessions too and his therapist has rightly pointed out that his resentment toward Flynn is built on his own insecurities and shortcomings. Harboring that resentment won't help him in any way. So he's managed to let it go. To see Flynn for what he really was, tortured and lost.

"What about him, specifically?" He asks curiously.

She's momentarily thrown by his genuine interest but not enough to hold her tears at bay as she replies. "They came for him and his family in the middle of night. Iris, his little girl, wasn't much older than our girls now—god, Wyatt, they murdered a _child_."

He sucks in a breath and remembers the story Flynn told him all those years ago. Silencers in the middle of the night. His eyes water as his imagination swaps Iris for the twins. Two faint pops go off in his mind. The sound of a silencer in an otherwise quiet home. His chest aches to point of nearly splitting in two as the scenario continues through to Lucy getting up to check on them. Another faint pop. His entire world gone in a matter of minutes. His throat constricts as he swallows back tears.

"Lucy, did you... _Christ_ , was your dream about losing the girls?" He asks in a brittle horrified voice. No wonder she awoke sobbing. He was close to sobbing right now.

"And _you_ ," she admits as her expression pinches again. "The shooter barged through our bedroom door and I froze. I knew the girls were dead and I _froze_. I didn't do anything to save you. I _couldn't_. God, they took my heart and soul from me, Wyatt. Ripped it right out of my body and I was _broken_." He can make out the tracks of her tears crystal clearly in the pitch black. "I lost everything. _Again_."

And then she's quaking in his arms, racked with body shaking sobs. Her arms wrap around his neck and hold onto him like he's the only thing keeping her afloat. His shoulder is soaked with her tears and honestly hers might be soaked with his too. He knows his cheeks are damp with salty sadness. The scenario she's presented to him is unbearable. His hands tangle in Lucy's hair and massage her scalp as she curls further into him.

He presses his lips close to her ear and hopes she'll hear him through her distress. "Denise keeps tabs on all known Rittenhouse members and allies. She knows where they are and who they're talking to at any given moment. There's no chatter. _None._ We beat them. They have no power. That includes Ben Cahill." He takes a deep breath and knows he's saying this for his own benefit too. "They can't hurt us anymore, Luce. "

"But someone else could," she warns. "Someone could pick up where they left off."

"A lot of people could do a lot of things," he replies. "Are you going to live your life in constant panic over what _could_ happen?"

She adjusts her position and moves her chin from his shoulder. Instead he feels her rest her forehead in the curve of his neck. "I don't want to, but I...I can't lose what I have. Not again. I won't survive it a second time."

He realizes this is not something he can soothe away with reassuring words. She's lost too much for that. So, he goes for action instead.

"I could install security," he offers.

"We have an alarm, don't we?"

"I don't mean an alarm. I mean...surveillance," he clarifies. "On the exteriors and in the public areas of the house. The living room, the hallways, the garage. Hell, Lucy," he says with determination. "We can install a panic room in the basement if you want."

There's a silent few seconds as he feels and hears her breathing deeply against him. Finally, she speaks in a self-conscious tone. "Would you think I was completely deranged if I said I actually _like_ the idea of a panic room in the basement?"

"It's not deranged," he assures her. "We can do whatever we need to do if it's going to help you feel _safe_." He means it too. He'll turn their house into a fortress if that's what she wants.

"Let's start with the cameras," she requests with a faraway thoughtful glance. "I'll consider the panic room and get back to you on that."

"Done. The cameras will go up as soon as we get home. Promise," he declares.

He leans down to kiss her forehead just as she cranes her neck back to meet his gaze and suddenly they're a breath away from locking lips. They said they would stop doing this, but they rarely seem able to follow through. Now is no different.

Her hand comes up and her fingers swipe along his jawline, inevitably reeling him in. She sighs contentedly against his mouth the minute their lips meet and that is all the encouragement he needs to press forward. He adjusts their angle and his hold on her so that the kiss deepens. Her mouth opens to him without even having to slide his tongue along her bottom lip to ask. Slender hands gently frame his face and caress his stubbled cheeks while they continue to languidly exchange open mouthed kisses.

He hears himself hum into her mouth as he gathers her closer. That's not something he normally does and they both know it. It lays the comfort and happiness he feels with her out in the open for her to see. He pushes her back onto the bed until he's lying between her legs with his obvious need pressing against her pelvis through the thin fabric of his boxers. Her leggings aren't any thicker than his underwear so he doesn't miss the heat pooling between her thighs, either.

His hips snap to hers and grind against her instinctively. She pulls away from his kiss with a gasp and a moan.

"Wait, Wyatt. _Wait_."

Her words are breathless as if she's barely able grit them out. He knows why as soon as the first syllable is uttered. He blows out a ragged breath and rests his forehead against hers.

"Yeah, I know."

"It's not that I don't want to, but we can't...we can't keep being each other's coping mechanisms," she says through panting breaths.

She's right and the situation isn't funny, but he chuckles anyway. "Been discussing us with your therapist too, have you?"

She puffs out a laugh and then runs her hands through his hair. "The topic did come up maybe once or twice."

"Why can't we, though?" He asks. He's honestly curious about why that seems to be a problem.

He doesn't move from his position over her. He's not quite ready to retreat yet. However, he does put more weight on his arms so he's not crushing her with his full mass. She's not pushing him away, so he assumes she's fine with that decision.

One brow quirks and her hands land on his shoulders. "Why can't we what?"

"Cope together. Why is that bad, exactly?"

"Because we're not actually coping _together_. We're coping individually and using each other as a distraction," she explains with an affectionate grin, as if he already knows the answer. "Besides, it just...makes everything that much more confusing."

"Because we don't know if it means we want to be together or if we just have phenomenal sex," he states with a half of a smirk.

Her eyes roll but she mirrors his crooked expression. "Right."

"Okay, so let's decide," he says confidently.

Her brow furrows at him skeptically. "Decide...what? If we want to be together?"

"Yes."

" _Now_?"

"Well, it _is_ our wedding anniversary. Is there a _better_ time to decide whether or not we want to be in a relationship?" He asks with a lighthearted grin.

She gives him a barely there Mona Lisa smile and speaks in a droll tone. "You think you're so funny, don't you?"

His head tilts with false bravado as he replies. "Most of the time."

"You really think we're ready to discuss this right now?" She asks as she tries to move them past his joke. "You don't need more time or... _anything_?"

"We could wait years and never be _ready_ and all the time in the world won't change the truth," he tells her earnestly. "Look, I'm not going to pretend that there aren't still going to be some issues we'll need to work on," he says he presses his forehead to hers again. "We went through hell, you and me. It's going to take us a damn long time to sort through all the crap. But...I tried processing all of it without you and all I did was bury myself in my regrets and become a horrifying _asshole_. I couldn't deal with it."

He sighs tiredly and risks a chaste kiss to her lips before he continues if only to remind himself that she's actually there with him. That he's not alone anymore.

"But opening up to you again, allowing myself let you back in, saved my life. Just like always, _you_ save my life, Lucy. I know I can live without you. I've done that. But I don't _want_ to live without you. I don't like myself without _you._ I'm the best version of myself when I'm standing beside _you_."

Her eyes are dewy for, what he hopes are, good reasons. Her hands card through his hair and a watery smile overtakes her face. "Truthfully?" She asks. "That's honestly how you feel?"

"I love you, Lucy, and if the last five years haven't changed that then nothing can," he assures her. "This life we literally stumbled into is exactly what I always wanted and I can't imagine having it with anyone else other than _you_."

Joyful tears spill out of the corners of her eyes and he hears a loud sniffle before her hand gently brushes away the hair that hides his forehead.

"I love you too," she confesses hurriedly, as if she's been holding her breath all this time. "I've never stopped, and I tried. Believe me, I did. I thought it was too messy and that the only way we would stop hurting each other is if we moved on. So I—I tried it and all it did was hurt you more. But I was wrong, the only way we stop hurting ourselves is if we come _together_. We've proven that with the girls. I—I could never handle that responsibility without you, Wyatt. You make me a better parent, a better person...just _better_. I'm not as strong as I pretend to be and you always see straight through that. You offer me your own strength without question. You make me feel safe and cared for and I'm...I'm not used to someone wanting to be that for me. I'm used to being that for other people. I shut you out for a long time and I never should have done that. I needed you then and I still need you now. This family we've found, this couple that we tell people we are...I need it all to be _real_. I want to actually live this life with _you_. I don't want to pretend anymore."

"I don't want to pretend either," he agrees as he nudges her nose with his. She is saying everything he's been longing to hear her say and he finds himself completely overcome with the full spectrum of his emotions. Part of him doesn't believe it but another part of him knows he's not imagining the feeling of her wrapped around him. Her legs are tangling with his and her hands are grazing up and down his biceps. This is real and it's happening. "I want this life with you more than I have ever wanted _anything_. I want a chance to be the husband I claim to be, Luce. I want to be with you for as many days as I have left."

"You are the only person I want to give my days to," she promises as she wraps her arms around his neck and hovers her lips close to his. Their lips are barely touching, giddy grin against giddy grin as she goes on. "My nights too. God, Wyatt, I just want you for the rest of my life. I know it will be hard and I know we still have a lot of baggage between us, but isn't that what marriage is? For worse of for better? In sickness and in health, right? We can handle it all as long as we stick together. I _know_ we can. I have every possible faith in _us._ "

He kisses her then because _how can he not_? They've revealed all of themselves and it turns out they are actually on the same page. After all the doubt and the fights and the advancing-retreating rhythm of their partnership, they want the exact same thing _at the exact same time_. They've finally managed to clear the air and plainly state what they want from each other and what they want is an awe-inspiring, _honest to God,_ lifetime together.

She pulls back from the kiss with a sudden radiant laugh and then skims a hand across his cheek. "I think we just renewed our vows, _Schweetheart_."

"Yeah? Well then, _Babydoll_ ," he replies as he also dusts off the old nickname from the recesses of his memory. "Maybe we should _consummate_ that vow renewal too, hm?"

His lips cover hers with a smile as she's still laughing, but the kiss escalates rapidly. Tongues meet and teeth nip. Her arms go around his neck and her legs wrap around his waist. He brings one hand to her face and slowly snakes the other one under the back of her shirt. He's struck with the memory of the first time this happened in this timeline. The impersonal way he'd avoided her face, the frantic push to release, the displaced aggression. As they remove each other's clothes with loving touches he's in awe of how they've come so far in a handful of weeks and he's immensely grateful that they've put that phase of their relationship behind them.

He's embracing his love for her and he will never talk himself into burying it ever again. This woman is his past, his present, and his future. No matter the timeline, they're connected irrevocably. That emotional and spiritual connection fuels their physical one and what follows is something so honest and pure that he's not sure if he'll ever be able to catch his breath again. Sinking into Lucy is always like coming home. Even when they were at their worst and trying to ignore everything they meant to each other that remained true. He wouldn't fit against anyone else the way he fit against her. No one else would move with him in such perfect rhythm.

He holds himself back to watch her. He holds her eyes as she's falling from the height of her climax and marvels at how goddamn stunning she is at any given moment. Face flushed, hair mussed, pupils blown, lips parted as she cries out his name. _Gorgeous_. Only after he's been a witness to her release does he indulge in his own. Her hands worshipfully run over his back, his arms, and through his hair as he comes inside of her and as he floats back down to her she places a series of small open kisses to his lips. It is the most intimate they have ever been, including that fateful night in 1941.

He pulls back from the kiss to rest his forehead against hers. "I've never loved anyone the way I love you," he admits as he searches her brown eyes for a reaction. "I don't know if you know that and you deserve to. This love, _our love_ , is the single greatest thing I have ever had."

Jubilant tears are silently falling from her eyes again as she nods and smiles serenely at him. "For me too, Wyatt. We are _everything_. You and me and the girls just... _everything_. Whatever work we have to do to make this family happy and successful will be totally worth it."

Maybe what they had wasn't obtained by conventional methods, but how they found it didn't matter. What mattered is that they have it now and they will fight tooth and nail to keep it. They will fight for each other no matter the cost because they are meant to live this life side by side. It took a hard won battle against themselves to figure it out, but now that they know they won't forget ever again.

No more dwelling on the past. Now, they move forward.

 _Now_ , they choose to stop wasting time. They choose each other. Over and over again, day after day, they will choose each other.

They may have been brought together by fate and war, but they're kept together by sheer will and the impossible strength of their love. It's the perfectly imperfect culmination of all the possibilities they thought they lost forever.

It's redemption. It's grace. It's _theirs._

* * *

" _I'm not scared to tell the truth,_

 _I've been to hell and back and I went with you,_

 _Remind me what we were before,_

 _When we said you are mine and I am yours._

 _I don't know much but I know myself,_

 _And I don't wanna love anybody else._

 _So let's break the spell and relieve the curse._

 _Remember why we fell for each other head first."_

 _-"Heart Shaped Wreckage", SMASH_


End file.
